Their Finest Hour
by Cassius Alcinder
Summary: As the Muggle and magical worlds alike are engulfed in a world war, Albus Dumbledore embarks on an epic quest to defeat the dark wizard Grindelwald.  Along the way, he must face his greatest fears and find help from the most unlikely sources.
1. Chapter 1

It was a bleak day in Paris. June was usually a very pleasant time of year there, with tourists enjoying their coffees in sidewalk cafes, street performers enlivening every corner, and the smell of freshly baked pastries in the air. But this June, everything was changing. The war everybody was hoping to avoid had finally arrived, and its wrath was terrible. Now, just a few months into the conflict, the tide had significantly turned. France had fallen, and the banner of Nazi Germany was ascendant over Europe.

The streets of Paris were devoid of their usual activity. The shops and cafes that were once so vibrant were now boarded up, and the few people who were walking about tried to conceal their obvious expressions of disgust and despair. The roads that were once filled with tourist traffic were now completely clogged with the trucks and tanks of the German army. Column upon column of young men in brown shirts marched forward with a stoic discipline, aware that they were going to be the most unwelcome of guests.

Interspersed throughout the troop formations, high ranking officers moved around in their command cars, inspecting the progress. One such car was on a particular mission. To the outside observer, the middle aged blonde man in the car was just another German officer, not very distinguishable from the rest. But to the magical world, Gellert Grindelwald was so much more. He was a wizard, and a very powerful one at that. And now, with yet another country under his grasp, he was without a doubt the most feared wizard in the world.

Grindelwald motioned for his driver to stop as they passed the entrance to the Louvre. He quickly got out of the car, leaving the troops behind. He walked past corridors full of priceless muggle artwork. He was sure his colleagues would loot their way through here later, but he was after treasure of the magical variety. Everything had gone smoothly enough so far; the French Ministry of Magic was all too willing to surrender, and now the magical treasures of France would soon be at his disposal.

He descended several levels before arriving at a medieval tapestry depicting knights in battle. If his information was correct, he was nearly there. He pulled out his wand, "Alohomora," he said, as the tapestry swung aside to reveal a hidden entrance. He began to walk down the long stone corridor when an old man in grey robes appeared in front of him, blocking the way.

"You should not have come here, Grindelwald," said the wizard, brandishing his wand.

"Aah Porthos, I had a feeling I would see you here," replied Grindelwald. He knew Porthos Perignon by reputation. A former Minister of Magic and Headmaster of Beauxbatons Academy, he was one of the most famous wizards in France, and well respected throughout the wizarding community. If anybody in the country was going to stand up to Grindelwald it would obviously be him, but this nuisance would be dealt with soon enough. They began to slowly circle around each other, preparing to duel.

"Your quest for power has blinded you," said Porthos, "You may beat me now, but you can never win."

"Stand aside old man, you know nothing of my powers," said Grindelwald.

"I know what wand you wield," responded Porthos, "But there are deeper powers you will never understand."

"I appreciate the advice," said Grindelwald, as a curse from his wand sent Peringnon flying backwards into the wall. He then shot a follow-up curse that caused an explosion along the wall, leaving Peringnon buried in rubble. Although he was accustomed to using it by now, Grindelwald could not help but be impressed with the performance of the wand that he had searched so long for. He had always been highly skilled as a duelist, but for a wizard of Peringnon's caliber to be disposed of so easily, well that was some very powerful magic. He stepped around the pile of rubble and into a large vault, lined on all sides by massive piles of treasure, and all manner of ancient magical artifacts. They would soon be added to his ever growing collection.

Albus Dumbledore, Transfiguration Professor at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and wizardry, was cleaning out his office after another school year had recently concluded. It had largely been business as usual at Hogwarts, despite the growing clouds of war on the Continent. Dumbledore was nearly finished dusting his desk when a colleague came barging into his office.

"It's over, we're doomed!" Horace Slughorn never was one for subtlety.

"Please sit down Horace," said Dumbledore. He had learned long ago to take Slughorn's hyperbole with a grain of salt, but he did provide useful information from time to time.

Slughorn slumped down in the chair, taking off his bowler hat and struggling to catch his breath. "I just got an update from Declan Noble; it's not good." Slughorn was known for his system of establishing favorite students who were likely to be successful and then keeping in touch with them to claim credit for their accomplishments. One such student was now the lead foreign correspondent for the_ Daily Prophet_ and was happy to tip off Slughorn of breaking news.

"Go on," said Dumbledore, maintaining his usual calm and collected demeanor.

"The French Ministry of Magic has fallen, Grindelwald has won again." Slughorn shuddered as he struggled to say the dark wizard's name.

"This is disturbing news indeed," said Dumbledore, trying not to betray any emotion.

Slughorn grew visibly agitated "France, Holland, Belgium, Norway, all fallen, he must be coming here next! We should run Albus, go into hiding, it won't be safe here!"

Dumbledore looked at him sternly, "Calm down Horace, we will do nothing of the sort."

"But Albus, they say he has the Death Stick, the Wand of Destiny, the wand that cannot be defeated," said Slughorn, nervously sweating.

"I am well aware of the rumors, but as long as I am here, Hogwarts will remain safe and open!"

Slughorn was taken aback by Dumbledore's stern rebuke and he got up and stumbled toward the door, "All right then, I'll just … carry on," he said as he walked out the door.

Dumbledore sat at his desk in contemplation. Though he did not want to feed into Slughorn's paranoia, this really was disturbing news. Reaching into his desk, he pulled out the files he had begun to keep since Grindelwald overthrew the German ministry several years prior. It was time to prepare for the moment he hoped would never come, although he always knew it would. All along, he had wanted to believe that his old friend Grindelwald still had some good left in him, hoping against hope that he would come to his senses and see the error of his ways. Now, with Grindelwald oppressing an entire continent, Dumbledore could no longer sit on the sidelines. He knew now was the time to act, but where would he start?


	2. Chapter 2

Deep below the bustling streets of London, another busy scene was taking place, and at the center of it was Sir Winston Churchill. Britain's new Prime Minister was beginning another day of work in his newly constructed underground command center, and once again he had woken up feeling the weight of an entire nation on his shoulders. He was very pleased with how the construction of his new war rooms had turned out, but that seemed to be the only thing going well for him at the moment.

Churchill had been elected Prime Minister at a trying time for his people. They were at war, and thus far the war had been a disaster. In a naïve quest for peace, his predecessor, Neville Chamberlain, had tried to appease the growing power of Adolf Hitler's Germany, standing idly by as the Nazis expanded into Austria and Czechoslovakia. That peace was shattered when the Nazis invaded Poland, and now, with all their allies defeated, the British people found themselves alone in a fight for survival. As he had said all along, appeasement was like tossing meat to a crocodile, hoping to be eaten last.

Churchill strolled through the Map Room, which as always was a bustling hive of activity. This room, considered by many to be the nerve center of the war effort, was manned around the clock by tireless staff members who were constantly sending and receiving updates from British forces all over the globe. Churchill took a closer look at the large map that covered the entire wall, and surmised that the current situation was indeed grim. Nazi armies had embarked on a series of lightning fast invasions across Europe, and hopelessly overwhelmed countries such as Norway, Denmark, Belgium, and the Netherlands had fallen like dominoes. Now France too had fallen, agreeing to surrender after being overrun by the German army. The Soviet Union had thus far honored its nonaggression pact with the Nazis, and Spain was determined to sit the war out. The United States had been sending much needed supplies, but was still committed to a policy of remaining officially neutral. As the map made clear, Britain was truly alone. Churchill was frequently reminded that the only thing worse than fighting with allies is fighting without them.

For the previous decade, Churchill had been the lone voice warning of the dangers posed by Hitler and the Nazis, and he was mostly ignored. The last war, the "Great War," was supposed to be the "war to end all wars." After the horrors of that catastrophic conflict, nobody wanted to contemplate the possibility of a second, even more destructive conflict against a more terrible foe. Chamberlain's appeasement was the logical culmination of a decade of willful ignorance. Even King Edward VII and Wallis Sampson, the bride for whom he gave up his throne, had openly cavorted with prominent Nazis. But now, there was a new King and a new Prime Minister, and together, George VI and Winston Churchill personified the tenacity and traditional stiff upper lip that the British people desperately needed now that the conflict was upon them.

Churchill had come into office promising the British people nothing more than "blood, toil, tears, and sweat," and he had a dogged determination about him despite the glaring enormity of the challenges he faced. Churchill walked past the conference room, where he would soon be holding his daily meeting of the War Cabinet. Neville Chamberlain had agreed to remain in Churchill's cabinet after resigning as Prime Minister. It certainly made for some awkward moments, but at least he was a good sport about it. Due to the increasing German air raids, Churchill's staff insisted it was much safer to do his work down here than in the Prime Minister's residence on Downing Street. He sat down in his chair and looked longingly at the cot in the corner of his office. Sleep was going to hard to come by for a Prime Minister at war.

Churchill began to read through his daily briefings, and looked up when he heard a knock at the door. "Good morning Alan," he said, as General Alan Brooke entered the room. General Brooke was a stern faced man whose moustache was a neatly pressed as his uniform. The two men were frequently at odds, but had managed to form an effective working relationship.

"Good morning Sir," Brooke replied, "Happy to see me as always I presume?"

"Now Brookie, you know meeting with you is about as enjoyable as a trip to the dentist, but equally necessary," said Churchill.

Brooke took a seat across from Churchill at his desk and proceeded to give his daily briefing on the status of the armed forces. Predictably, the news was pretty much all bleak. Much of the British Army had been trapped in Northern France after the German invasion. Allen was able to lead a safe evacuation from Dunkirk, but most of their heavy equipment had been left behind. Now, that disorganized army was preparing for the invasion of Britain that was seemingly inevitable. Every night, German planes descended over London, dropping their bombs. The Royal Air Force was making every possible effort to stop them, but its resources were few and thinly spread. Further abroad, North Africa was now a principle theater of conflict, and reports had been constantly streaming in of British forces being overrun by the German Afrikakorps.

Churchill thanked Brooke for his time and looked back at his notes, as it was sinking in just how dire the situation was. As he had aptly stated in his most recent radio address, the Battle of France was over, the Battle of Britain was about to begin.

A few short blocks away from the Prime Minister's bunker, Albus Dumbledore, thinly disguised in muggle clothing, was formulating his plans as he made his way to the Ministry of Magic. Being safely tucked away at Hogwarts, it was difficult for Dumbledore to understand the scale of the destruction wrought thus far by the war, but now he was getting his first good look at bombed out London. In every direction he looked there was destruction; one side, a double-decker bus lay abandoned in a large crater, on the other; firefighters were hosing down the smoldering remains of what was once a community theater. Every street corner seemed to have air raid sirens, and posted warnings reminding the citizenry to take shelter in the event of an attack. Despite all the madness, Dumbledore couldn't help but notice a strong sense of defiance in all those walking by. Londoners made every attempt to go about their daily business, and from the firefighters to the volunteer air raid wardens, there was a growing feeling of unity and purpose amongst the populace. Although the muggles had never heard of Grindelwald, and had no idea of the full extent of the danger they faced, he could still sense that they were ready to take on any foe.

Dumbledore arrived at the familiar red phone booth that was of yet undamaged and dialed the proper code into the phone. An instant later, he was transported underground into the large atrium of the Ministry of Magic. Inside, the Ministry appeared to be just as much of a war zone as the rest of London. Overworked witches and wizards were running in every possible direction, struggling to keep up with the multitude of demands on the wartime ministry. The walls were bedecked with all manner of public service announcements; reminders of how to stay safe during the bombings and how to protect muggle neighbors as well. Dumbledore walked by the statue of magical fellowship and into the main corridor where he was greeted by the new Minister of Magic, Horatio Hotspur.

"Albus, it's such a relief to have you onboard," said Hotspur. Prior to the war, Hotspur had been the head of the Auror office. After going through several ineffectual Ministers in the build up to the war, it seemed that Hotspur was finally the strong wartime leader they needed. Of course, Dumbledore had been offered the post and had graciously refused. Hotspur was well aware of this, but he was secure enough to acknowledge Dumbledore's superior knowledge and abilities, and he often sought him out for advice.

"Yes, Horatio we have much to discuss," replied Dumbledore as they walked down the corridor together. Hotspur was followed by Elphias Doge, an old friend of Dumbledore's from their days at Hogwarts who was now working as a senior aide to the Minister.

The trio walked onto an elevator and arrived one level below the Department of Mysteries, in Hotspur's new wartime headquarters. The Ministry's wartime headquarters were every bit as busy as its muggle equivalent, and every witch or wizard who worked within its walls had been extensively vetted with questioning under Veritaserum and was kept under a close watch. Dumbledore and Doge followed Hotspur into his office and took seats around his desk.

"Well Albus, I'm sure you're up to date on the current situation, and you certainly don't need me to tell you just how bad it is," said Hotspur. Behind them, a wall sized enchanted map, not unlike the one in Churchill's war room, displayed the latest known whereabouts of Grindelwald's forces. Hotspur continued, "Luckily Grindelwald hasn't made it over here yet, but I think it's only a matter of time. We've already caught some of his spies within the ministry, the Aurors are busy tracking down the rest of them, not to mention putting up whatever defenses we can, simply put, we are spread thin and we need your help."

Dumbledore nodded, "I have been preparing for this for quite some time. Grindelwald's defeat will not be easily obtained, but it is certainly achievable."

"Well I suppose my first question is rather simple, but why is he doing this? What exactly does he want?" asked Hotspur.

"I knew Grindelwald as a young man," explained Dumbledore, "He often spoke of his desire for power, for wizards to lord over muggles, and it appears that he is seizing the opportunity provided by the muggle war to do just that in as many countries as possible, and at the same time, he has an obsession with obtaining certain magical artifacts."

Hotspur asked, "Well he's been awfully successful so far; how do you think he's managing it?"

Dodge added, "Look at some of the wizards who have turned up dead, Peringnon in France, Carl Berg in Denmark, these are wizards would not be easily defeated."

"I believe it is highly probable that Grindelwald is in possession of the Elder Wand," said Dumbledore.

"The Elder Wand? The wand that cannot be defeated in a duel? Do we have any hope at all?" asked Hotspur.

Dumbledore paused, "The elder wand is indeed very powerful, but there are far more powerful forces in this world; Grindelwald has lost sight of this and we must not."

"Yes of course, the power of love and all that," said Hotspur, slightly exasperated, "So do you think Grindelwald is working with the Nazis?"

"Hitler's interest in the magical world is well known, it does seem to be a natural fit," answered Dumbledore.

"Plus Hitler came to power around the same time Grindelwald overthrew the German Ministry, they've been invading the same countries at the same time, it really can't be a coincidence," added Dodge.

"Great, so a dark wizard with an unbeatable wand, joined forces with a muggle dictator, how are we ever going to stop this?" asked Hotspur.

"Grindelwald's goal is to create an unstoppable army comprised of all manner of magical creatures; giants, trolls, but he has a particular fascination with inferi. The army is growing bigger by the day, but if we could defeat it, he would be vulnerable," said Dumbledore.

"Do you think he's coming for Britain next?" said Hotspur

"His position is not yet strong enough to attempt that," answered Dumbledore.

"Well where do you think he's heading next then?" Hotspur wondered.

"Well the focus of the muggle war has shifted to Egypt, where our intelligence has detected high levels of magical activity as well. I spent some time in Egypt many years ago, and there is untold magic contained in the ancient tombs," said Doge.

"Judging by Grindelwald's usual patterns, I would surmise that he is attempting to use ancient magic in Egypt to awaken an army of the dead," surmised Dumbledore. "If we could prevent this it would deal a serious blow to his efforts."

"Are you volunteering your services?" asked Hotspur

"Well yes, I have always wanted to see Egypt," said Dumbledore, "And I hope you wouldn't mind lending me your assistant and his local knowledge of the region."

"It would be an honor to help you in any way, Albus," said Doge, as Hotspur nodded his assent.

"And how to plan on navigating a muggle battlefield?" Hotspur asked

"Well we may need assistance in that department, as Grindelwald will surely have the magical means of transportation monitored," said Dumbledore.

"Right, but how would you go about arranging that, I mean I know that Grindelwald and Hitler are working together, but I for one, take the International Statute of Secrecy seriously," said Hotspur.

Doge spoke up, "Well I know that we all stayed out of the First World War, however there is a precedent for cooperation, for instance in 1588 English witches conjured a massive storm to destroy the muggle Spanish Armada."

"I believe wizards and muggles share a common humanity and facing the same danger together, and while I certainly understand why we must remain in secret, in this case, at least a minimal involvement with the British Army may be necessary," said Dumbledore.

"Well," said Hotspur, "As uncomfortable as this makes me, if the other side is working together, we probably should too, but in any case I think it I time I consulted the Prime Minister. "

Grindelwald sat at the head of the table in a meeting room of the now defunct French Ministry of Magic. Seated on his right was Colonel Hebert Gruber, who was currently serving as the liaison officer between Grindelwald and Hitler's high command. Despite Grindelwald's disdain for muggles, it had been a very useful alliance so far. After they had both seized power, Grindelwald reached out to Hitler through back channels, and after realizing that they were both on mad quests for power, and that their views were very much aligned, the two agreed to work together. In fact, the Nazis even had a division of Hitler's elite SS troops dedicated to tracking down magical artifacts and looking for supernatural means of winning the war; an aim that suited Grindelwald's purposes perfectly. Grindelwald waited as his closest assistants filed in. They were known as the Schwarze Stabe, or Black Wands, and usually wore black robes with orange arm bands bearing the insignia of the Deathly Hallows, a triangle inside a circle with a diagonal line through it.

"Gentleman please be seated," said Grindelwald, as they found places around a table. "First of all, congratulations to all of you for our recent successes." There was a smattering of applause. "Now let's get down to business, Dietrich, have you finished removing the artifacts from the Louvre?"

"Yes my Lord," answered one of Grindelwald's lackeys, "The treasure appears to be quite a haul, and it is on its way to Berlin for analysis as we speak."

"Excellent," said Grindelwald, "Yomoto, how are things on your front?"

"My lord, the Ministry in Tokyo is firmly on board with our aims, and we have begun launching attacks into China," answered the Japanese wizard.

"Schwartz, What have you recovered in Belgium?" asked Grindelwald.

"My lord, after much searching, I may finally know the location of the enchanted waffles of Antwerp," replied the visibly nervous wizard, whose round face was sweating profusely.

"My dear Schwartz, what on earth would I ever do with enchanted waffles?" There was nervous laughter around the room as Schwartz sputtered for a response. "You see," Grindelwald continued, "Those who serve me well will be given great responsibilities, those that don't end up in Belgium." Raucous laughter erupted throughout the room, although Grindelwald realized they were probably laughing more out of loyalty and fear than because of anything particularly witty he had said. Ordinarily, the cruciatus curse would straighten out disappointing subordinates, but he was feeling magnanimous given the current state of the war.

"Now gentlemen," Grindelwald continued, "We move on to the next phase, constructed the ultimate army, an army that cannot be killed because they are already dead, Meisterburger, are you ready to leave for Egypt?"

"Yes my lord," replied Manfred Meisterburger, who had steadily risen to become Grindelwald's second in command.

"Colonel Gruber, are your troops prepared to assist him?" asked Grindelwald.

"Yes my lord," replied Gruber, "I have units in place in Egypt and I will be joining them shortly."

"I don't think I need to remind you the importance of your mission," said Grindelwald, "Good luck, and don't fail me."

Churchill reclined in his office, yearning for a simpler time when he could paint to take his mind off things. Painting had always been his favorite escape, but he hardly had time for it anymore. Now that he thought of it, the office was rather drab, and could definitely use some new pictures. He was particularly bothered by a painting of a small ugly man that had somehow affixed itself to his wall. Just as he was looking at it, the man in the painting seemed to come to life and say, "Stand by for the Minister of Magic." Churchill slumped down in his seat. He had met the "other minister" once before, on his first night as Prime Minister. At first he had assumed it was some sort of sick prank, but he was stunned to learn that there actually was a separate government for wizards within his country. Before he knew it, Horatio Hotspur had stepped through his fireplace and was dusting himself off.

"Winston, it's so great to see you again," said Hotspur.

"Wish I could say the same for you old boy," replied Churchill.

Hotspur motioned to the two other wizards who followed him, "This is Albus Dumbledore and Elphias Doge, so how is the war going on your end?"

"Oh the usual, death, destruction, little hope of success, wait what did you mean 'on your end?'" said Churchill.

"Well we wizards are at war as well, and we believe that actively aided by a dark wizard named Grindelwald," said Hotspur.

"Well isn't that reassuring, not only are we facing the Nazis, but an evil wizard as well, so tell me what is this Grindelwald up to?" said Churchill.

Dumbledore stepped in, "We have reason to believe he is planning to use ancient Egyptian magic to summon an army of the dead."

"Well that's just wonderful," said Churchill. He had already exhausted himself reassuring the British people that victory over the Nazis was possible, but he knew he could never tell them the true extent of the threat.

"I believe we can prevent him from doing so if we work together," said Dumbledore.

"Right, so we basically we have the German army and an evil wizard searching for some unknown magic somewhere in Egypt, and if they find it we all lose, but if we send a wizard into hostile territory, completely cut off, in a middle of desert, he might just find this magic thing first and save the day?" said Churchill.

"That's precisely right," answered Hotspur.

Churchill reached for his phone, "I don't suppose you've met General Brooke, he's a very disagreeable man; he has all the virtues I despise and none of the vices I admire, but he certainly has his uses." At Churchill's summons, Brooke came walking through the door and was immediately taken aback.

"Sir, what is the meaning of these men in these…costumes?"

"These are wizards Alan," said Churchill, as he brought the incredulous Brooke up to speed on the situation. After a lengthy explanation he concluded, "So what these wizards need is a unit that can get them safely behind enemy lines, in and out, without detection, and I believe we have such a unit, do we not?"

Brooke answered, "This plan is absolutely preposterous, goes against everything I've ever been trained to do, and has little chance of success, but yes, we do have such a unit."

"Well lads," said Churchill, "Let's get to work."


	3. Chapter 3

The lone truck rambled on as the sun baked down on the vast expanse of desert sand. Lieutenant John Evans scanned the horizon; there were no signs of life in any direction, but he had to remain on the lookout all the same. A few short months ago, Evans was finishing his English degree at the university and starting to look for teaching positions, but he had a major change of plans when the war broke out. Now he found himself fighting that war in middle of the Egyptian desert. It was certainly a long way from home.

Sitting next to Evans and driving the truck was Sergeant Nigel Bromhead. He was a hardy and sturdy man who did not put up with nonsense, the type of man that had built the British Empire. He was an experienced soldier who had been in the regular Army before the war, and he was often needed to keep the new recruits in line. Two of those newer recruits were behind him in the back of the truck; Duncan MacDonald, a young ginger Scot who had been a cab driver in Glasgow before the war, and Will Reynolds, who had been a farm hand in the Australian outback. Together, they made up the newest squad of the British Army's Long Range Desert Group, a unit formed to carry out particularly challenging and difficult missions during the war in North Africa.

To the outside observer the men were a ragged bunch. They had just spent several weeks on a deep cover mission monitoring the movements of the German army, and they had not had a proper shower or shave in quite some time. So far the war was not going well in this theater, and the British Army had been continuously pushed back by German forces led by General Erwin Rommel, the "Desert Fox." But despite all the setbacks, the British troops continued to fight back in any way they could. Units such as the Long Range Desert Group were carrying out dangerous and important missions, and already making quite a name for themselves. With one such mission complete, these exhausted men were returning to their unit's forward base to await their next instructions.

"Oi," called out MacDonald as he held up an empty tin, "Who ate all the biscuits?"

"You slovenly soldiers," called out Bromhead, "in my day we would never have biscuits in the first place, the Army's gone soft I tell you."

"But in your day you rode brontosauruses into battle," said MacDonald, "Reynolds, I bet it was you, you fat Aussie wanker."

"I believe the correct term is 'portly Australian gentleman,' and I wouldn't eat your ghastly short bread," said Reynolds, who despite the taunts was far from overweight.

"Oh that's right, you only eat kangaroos," said MacDonald.

"Calm down lads," said Evans, realizing that this probably wasn't too different from teaching in the classroom after all, "We'll be back at base soon enough and then we can have some real food again." After several weeks of canned rations, the men were salivating at the prospect of a hot meal, even if it was only army food.

Evans pulled out his map and double checked his calculations with his compass. It was always very challenging to navigate in a desert environment with no discernible landmarks to speak of, but the Long Range Desert Group was at the forefront of innovating new techniques, and their system had worked well enough so far. If Evans was correct, they would soon be approaching the safety of British lines and the familiarity of their unit's base.

"I think it's time to take sides on an important issue," said Reynolds, "Hedy Lamarr, or Vivian Leigh?"

"Vivian Leigh, she's fit," said MacDonald.

"Ugh, haven't you seen _Gone with the Wind_?" said Bromhead, "She literally whinges non-stop for the entire movie, a lot like you two actually, my vote's for Lamarr."

"Mr. Evans, please break the tie," said Reynolds.

"Have to go with Lamarr, I mean they say she's working for the government inventing new torpedoes, you really can't top that she's bloody brilliant," said Evans.

"Lieutenant Evans once again demonstrates why they put him in charge," said Reynolds as he jotted down the results in his notebook. Marlene Dietrich was still clinging to small lead over Ava Gardner for first place in his official table.

Bromhead reached for his canteen to take a big sip of water, only to spit it all out when he realized he had gotten a mouthful of Bovril. "Bloody hell, that's disgusting," he said, as MacDonald and Reynolds burst out laughing at apparent success of their prank. Bromhead simply turned towards them and said, "Guess who's cleaning the latrine when we get back?" which was predictably met with disappointed groans.

After rambling on for hours the truck finally reached the familiar group of tents on the outskirts of British lines. Bromhead pulled to a stop as the men grabbed their gear and stumbled out of the truck. After weeks on patrol, there was nothing they wanted more than a cold shower and a hot meal. "Oi Frankie," Bromhead called out to Sergeant Frank Bryce, who was currently on guard duty.

"Glad to see you lot back," said Bryce.

"So, what's been happening?" asked Evans, who was starved for information after the isolation of their recent mission.

"Rommel launched another assault; the whole Army's been retreating across the front, took some pretty heavy losses too."

The men nodded at the grim but mostly expected news as Bryce continued, "But the Desert Group's starting to strike back, B squad hit an airfield the other day, blew up thirty German planes on the ground."

"Now why can't we be doing cool stuff like that?" asked Reynolds.

"Ours is not to reason why, ours is but to do or die," Evans reminded him.

"Aye aye Professor," retorted MacDonald.

The conversation ground to a halt at the sudden approach of Captain Reginald Whittington. Whittington, who was Evans' immediate superior in the unit, was a highly ambitious officer who did everything by the book.

"Lieutenant Evans, your men are absolutely filthy," said Whittington in disgust.

Evans badly wanted to offer a response about how obviously they were filthy because they had, you know, been out in the desert on a mission without running water and that maybe Whittington would get dirty himself if he ever stepped out from behind his desk, but instead what came out was, "I'll see to it they're cleaned up sir."

"Well I would not allow your lot to be seen in this state, however, Colonel Collingwood has demanded to see the four of you in his office immediately," said Whittington, as he turned and walked away.

Evans noticed MacDonald and Reynolds mocking Whittington's pompous tone, realizing that he should probably reprimand them, but deciding against it. Bromhead, meanwhile, was deep in thought. "What do you think that's about Mr. Evans?" he asked.

Evans ran through several possibilities in his head. Usually a summons to meet with a senior officer in this manner was a prelude to massive flame spray. However, Evans could not think of anything they had possibly done wrong on their recent mission, perhaps the Colonel was just having one of his mood swings. The men filed inside and adjusted their disheveled uniforms before entering the Colonel's office and standing at attention.

Evans snapped a crisp salute, "Lieutenant Evans, reporting as ordered sir."

"Stand at ease, and don't worry you're not in trouble," replied Colonel Collingwood, sensing Evans' obvious nervousness. "You lads are in for quite a treat actually, we have just received a direct cable from London requesting a squad for 'an important, possibly dangerous, and highly secret mission' as they put it, every other squad has assignments already, so you four are the lucky winners."

"Sir, may I ask what type of mission it is?" Evans inquired.

"I'm afraid that's well above my pay grade," answered the Colonel, "Your orders are simply to report to Headquarters in Cairo and await further instructions."

"May I ask who authorized this?"

"It was authorized by special request of Prime Minister Churchill himself," replied the Colonel, as the four men before him had a look of incredulous shock. "You are dismissed, and I think you have some packing to do."

Evans saluted and made a sharp turn as they filed out of the Colonel's office and starting walking back towards their living area.

"So, any guesses what we're doing?" asked Reynolds

"If I had to guess I'd say we're going to knock off Rommel," surmised Bromhead. Rumors had already been rife that the Long Range Desert Group was going to attempt the assassination of the sly German General.

"That would be my guess too," added Evans, "but why would they have to go over the Colonel's head for that? This has to be something bigger."

"Aye lads, we're not thinking big enough, obviously we're going to parachute into Berlin and assassinate Hitler himself, we'll end the war in one fell swoop, and they'll give us all medals and statues in Parliament," said MacDonald.

The four men looked at each other, equally flummoxed. The fact that they were about to embark on the orders of the Prime Minister without having any idea what those orders were was somewhat frightening but also very exciting.

"Well there will be plenty of time for speculation, right now I believe somebody has a latrine to clean," said Bromhead, to the disappointed groans of Reynolds and MacDonald.

Dumbledore had returned to his cluttered office at Hogwarts to pack what he would need for his mission and tie up loose ends. Headmaster Dippet recognized the necessity of Dumbledore missing much of the coming school year, and it had been arranged for Professors Slughorn and Merrythought to cover his classes. He had stuffed all manner of informational books, potion ingredients, and other useful tools into his enchanted bag, which appeared to be the size of a normal handbag while actually holding much more than that.

After cleaning off most of his desk, Dumbledore paused as he looked at his pensieve. As he prepared for the mission he was about to embark on, he couldn't fight the urge to revisit its origins one more time. He plunged into the swirling mists of the stone basin and found himself in the sleepy village of Godric's Hallow, looking at a much younger version of himself. He was on the grounds of his family's home. His brother Aberforth was there, as well as Grindelwald. The three of them were locked in a bitter argument; wands were drawn and curses were flying. Dumbledore knew what would happen next; he desperately wanted to turn away and yet he couldn't stop himself from watching. Dumbledore winced in agony as he watched his poor, troubled sister Ariana run out of the house, attempting to make peace, only to be stricken dead by a wayward curse. He wanted desperately to call out to her, to warn her, but he knew she could never hear him.

Even in this memory, it was still not clear who was responsible, but he would never forget the reactions. Aberforth, who had always put family first, was absolutely devastated. Meanwhile, the course and unfeeling Grindelwald was completely unfazed. It was only then that Dumbledore was able to see Grindelwald for what he truly was. He was ashamed to think that he had once been friends with the man, invited him into his home, and even shared some of his anti-muggle views.

With great effort, Dumbledore extracted himself from the memory and returned to the present day. He slumped back in his chair, deep in contemplation. He had been reluctant to confront Grindelwald knowing that he would be confronting either his sister's killer, or the knowledge that he himself had killed his own sister. Despite all of Dumbledore's great powers and accomplishments, this uncertainty was too much to deal with.

Dumbledore was also forced to address a dark chapter of his past; the fact that he was once a willing collaborator in Grindelwald's plans for the subjugation of muggles and other "lesser beings." To an ambitious young wizard, the abstract ideas of such a system had a certain attraction. But now that Grindelwald's plans were actually coming to pass, and millions were now under the yoke of his oppression with many millions more directly threatened, Dumbledore was realizing more and more that he had an obligation to act. But despite all this, he still did not feel strong enough for a direct confrontation. What he had discussed at the Ministry was true; Grindelwald's allies were likely assembling a magical army in North Africa and defeating this army would deal him a major blow. Dumbledore hoped against hope that the defeat of Grindelwald's army would leave him weak enough for other wizards to finish the job, although he knew that he would eventually have to do it himself.

Dumbledore went back to thinking over the logistics of his mission. It was no surprise that a loyal friend such as Doge was so eager to aid him, and his knowledge of the local magical community would prove invaluable. Dumbledore was actually supposed to accompany Doge on his journey to Egypt all those years ago, before tragedy struck his family.

He was still unsure if including the British Army in his planning was a wise decision, but when it came down to it, it was pretty much unavoidable now that he was getting involved in a conflict that was very much a muggle one as well.

Satisfied with his packing job, Dumbledore walked out of his office as his footsteps echoed in the long empty corridors. Soon they would be bustling with the activity of a new school year, and for the first time in ages, he would not be there when it started. Hogwarts had always been his safe place, a refuge from the chaotic world. And now, he was forced to leave it, for the greater good.


	4. Chapter 4

The large, sprawling estate rose from the gentle rolling hills of the English countryside. In a simpler time, it would have represented the epitome of tranquil, pastoral bliss. But in wartime, Bletchley Park had taken on a new role; it was now the headquarters of the Government Code and Cipher School, a very secretive organization dedicated to intercepting and encrypting the most highly sensitive communications. Perfectly situated between Oxford and Cambridge, many of the top academic minds in the country had been recruited to work there.

Inside the busy house, Daisy Johnson was in the middle of another long day's work. The daughter of a professor, Daisy was a very bright young scholar whose career opportunities were often very much limited by her gender. When Bletchley Park became operational, the tight knit circle of her father's colleagues, who made up a good portion of the staff, recruited Daisy for an administrative position.

In between radio transmissions, she took the chance to catch up with her coworker Lydia Baldwin, with whom she had grown quite close.

"So have you been hearing these rumours?" asked Lydia. The past few days had seen a series of high ranking officers appearing at Bletchley Park for hastily arranged closed door meetings. Nobody knew what the purpose of these meetings was, but speculation was rampant.

Daisy looked around to make sure nobody else was listening. "I heard the top floor is involved." The top floor of Bletchley Park was occupied by MI6, the Secret intelligence Service. Nobody was ever sure what exactly they did up there, and they were certainly not encouraged to ask questions.

"Secret spy stuff, I like the sound of that, we could use some more excitement here," said Lydia.

Daisy laughed, "Encrypting secret documents isn't exciting enough for you?"

"Well maybe they're forming some sort of elite special operations unit, and then we can finally have some fit young men around here," said Lydia.

"As opposed to the fit young men who are already here?" said Daisy as they both laughed. The fact that they were usually surrounded by older professor types was a constant source of humour between them.

"Well it just doesn't seem right, two single girls like us all cooped up in this country town while all the eligible men are out there killing each other," said Lydia.

Daisy laughed and shook her head at Lydia's outlandish statement. She wasn't nearly as mad for boys as Lydia, and was usually perfectly content to watch in amusement at her friend's antics.

The two ladies got up and ran to the window at the sound of an approaching car, wondering who the next mysteriously important visitor would be. As they looked on, a black Rolls-Royce pulled up in front of the estate, and a staff officer parked the car and walked out followed by a much older man. The man was wearing a tweed sport coat and had long grey hair and a grey beard. Daisy surmised that he would fit in perfectly in the academic environments she was used to, but would look totally out of place on a military installation.

"Have fun with this one," said Lydia, as Daisy walked to the door to sign in the guests. The staff officer showed his identification while the other man signed in as a guest without saying a word. Daisy couldn't help but notice something strangely unique in his blue eyes. As they walked away and up the stairwell, she looked down at the name in the log book, "Albus Dumbledore."

Dumbledore continued climbing to the top floor of the estate, where he was greeted by the head of MI6.

"You must be Albus Dumbledore, I'm Stewart Menzies, but you can call me 'C'," he said, referring to the traditional moniker that came with his position.

Dumbledore shook his hand, "It's a pleasure to meet you, Sir."

After much bureaucratic wrangling between various government offices, it had finally been determined that Bletchley Park would be the ideal place to run Dumbledore's operation from. It was a place that was truly quiet, away from the congestion and prying eyes of the city.

"Mr. Churchill sends his regards and wishes you luck," Menzies then turned to the man sitting next to him, "This is Alastair Thorndale, and he's going to be your case officer, so be sure to direct all your complaints his way."

"It's an honor to meet you Sir," said Thorndale as he shook Dumbledore's hand. "You may have met Miss Johnson and Miss Baldwin downstairs, they will be handling your communications, and I'll be handling everything else."

"I appreciate the support," said Dumbledore, "Are the travel arrangements ready?"

"Everything is in place," Thorndale confirmed.

Unbeknownst to even the Prime Minister, over the past several years MI6 and the Ministry of Magic had cultivated a working relationship. In one of Horatio Hotspur's more forward looking policies, he had launched a joint venture with MI6 to connect major British bases throughout the world through the floo network. Now, Dumbledore was poised to take advantage of that project. He was about to make a long jump to Gibraltar, and from there on to Malta and ultimately Cairo.

Dumbledore reached into his bag and pulled out a container of a powdery substance. Taking some powder in his hand, he threw it into the fireplace, turning the flames a strange shade of green. "Gentlemen, I want to thank you for all your help, and I hope to see you again bearing good news."

"Good luck Mr. Dumbledore, we're counting on you," said Menzies as Dumbledore disappeared into the flames.

A loud crack filled the room as Grindelwald apparated, startling the busy man who was hunched over his desk.

"You're going to have to stop doing that," he said.

"Come now Adolf, you of all people should appreciate the ways of the wizard," said Grindelwald. He had a growing habit of popping into Hitler's office unannounced. While it annoyed Hitler to no end, he certainly could not complain given all that he had gained from their relationship so far.

"Well I do appreciate my new sword," said Hitler. Hanging on his wall was Durendal, the legendary sword of the ancient French hero Roland, which Grindelwald had recently lifted from the Louvre.

"Don't mention it," said Grindelwald, "And I trust my other contributions have been well used?"

"Yes of course," answered Hitler, "Setting those giants loose in Poland was a nice touch, and your sea monsters are really destroying the North Atlantic shipping lanes."

"Anything for my favorite Fuhrer," said Grindelwald.

Hitler looked at Grindelwald in admiration. He was in awe of his magical abilities, and with his blonde hair and chiseled features, he was everything Hitler wished he could be; a fact that Grindelwald was sure to exploit to his advantage any way he could.

"I trust Colonel Gruber has served you adequately?" Hitler asked.

"He's competent, unlike most of that rabble you call an army," responded Grindelwald.

"Well I am waiting on you to create my new army," Hitler reminded him.

"Well my new army, which I am letting you use, will be ready very soon," Grindelwald corrected him, "Well I believe we should both get back to our nation conquering."

With another loud pop, Grindelwald disapparated and returned to his own Berlin headquarters to brood. Hitler was a weak man and a foolish one, he thought to himself, but he had his uses. Hitler's thirst for power and capacity for cruelty sometimes surpassed even his own. He knew that they would inevitably turn on each other at some point, and when it happened he would be ready. After all, when building a dark empire things can get awfully crowded at the top. But for now, it was still in their mutual best interest to work together.

He was considering taking a trip to Egypt, but he reminded himself that there were still pressing matters to attend to, stamping out the last remnants of magical resistance in France, and consolidating his recent gains throughout Europe. Besides, Meisterburger was his most trusted subordinate, and he could see no reason to doubt the success of his mission.

"This all just doesn't add up," said Nigel Bromhead to his equally suspicious comrades. After receiving their new secret orders, they had reported, as instructed, to headquarters in Cairo. They were met there by an intelligence officer, who seemed to know why they were there, and driven to the British Embassy. A communications officer at the embassy had greeted them and led them into the embassy's study, where they had currently been left, in a state almost resembling house arrest.

It was an ornate study, with massive book shelves covering three walls and the fourth wall centered by an elaborately carved fireplace, which of course had a portrait of George VI above it. They had been left in the room for hours now with no further instructions, and the uncertainty of the situation combined with the boredom had left the four men on edge. MacDonald and Reynolds had attempted to pass the time by setting up an impromptu game of darts with their bayonets, but the usually calm Evans had completely lost it when they very nearly punctured a first edition Walter Scott novel. There had also been several heated discussions on topics ranging from the relative quality of Manchester United as opposed to Liverpool, to the artistic merits of Ava Gardner's acting abilities.

The startled men suddenly looked towards the door as the communications officer entered the room bearing a fresh sheet of paper. "Telegraph from London with some new orders," he said, as he dropped the paper on the table and walked away.

"I think he's MI6," Evans mouthed to Bromhead, who nodded in agreement.

"So tell us what it says!" said a very eager MacDonald.

Evans picked up the paper and read aloud, "Arrival of special agent is imminent. Escort this agent to his objective and assist him in completing his mission."

He set the paper down, "Well there you have it."

"Well that really clarifies things," said Reynolds.

"You'd think they would at least want us to know who this agent is and where to find him," added Bromhead.

"What if it's one of those beautiful female assassins like the Russians have?" speculated MacDonald.

Evans paced the room, trying to make sense of it all. He thought back to the spy novels he had eagerly consumed growing up; tales of danger and adventure at the far reaches of the Empire. And now here he was, in the middle of his own spy story. He mulled over the burning questions in his mind; just who was this mysterious special agent?

All eyes instantly snapped towards the fireplace where a loud rustling noise was heard inside, and the four men looked on in shock as Dumbledore tumbled out of the fireplace, stood up, and dusted himself off.

"Bloody hell it's Father Christmas!" exclaimed MacDonald.

Dumbledore's eyes seemed to twinkle as he gave a hearty laugh, "You are certainly not the first person to confuse us."

"Well, who are you then?" asked Evans

Dumbledore paused; he was always reluctant to break the Statute of Secrecy, but in this case he believed that if these men were being asked to put their lives at risk, then they had a right to know what exactly they were getting into.

"I'm Albus Dumbledore," he said, "And I am a wizard."

"And I'm Cary sodding Grant," scoffed Reynolds.

"I am accustomed to that reaction as well," said Dumbledore as he pulled out his wand and exclaimed, "Incendio!"

The four men all jumped as the bookshelf behind them was suddenly engulfed in flames. With another flick of his wand, the flames were extinguished, and the bookshelf was surprisingly undamaged.

Evans' initial impression was that Dumbledore resembled some sort of struggling Shakespearean actor. But after that display, he was convinced that this man was legitimate.

"I'm Evans, John Evans," he said, "And this is Nigel Bromhead, Duncan MacDonald and Will Reynolds."

Dumbledore went down the line shaking hands with each man before pulling several large files out of his bag. "Now gentlemen, if you are ready we have much to discuss," he said as he pulled up a chair.

The men took their seats around the table as Dumbledore handed them briefing packets prepared by both Doge and Thorndale. He patiently answered all their questions, explaining everything to how he arrived with floo powder, to who Grindelwald was, to Doge's Egyptian contacts, to why he was here now.

Dumbledore continued, "Doge has also put us in touch with Isis Shaharazad, who lives right here in Cairo and is the most accomplished Egyptian alchemist alive today. If anybody knows what we're looking for and where to look, it would be her. "

Evans took everything in, "So basically, there's an evil wizard helping the Nazis, they're trying to build an indestructible army of dead people, we're not completely sure what to look for or how they're doing it, but if we go see this old witch that your friend met 40 years ago she might tell us where to look so we can stop them."

"Precisely," said Dumbledore.

Evans turned to his men, "Any more questions?"

Completely stunned by the information they had just received, they were all silent.

"I learned to stop asking questions a long time ago," said Bromhead, "And if you stay in the Army long enough you'll learn that too."

After finding a spare khaki uniform for Dumbledore to change into, they gathered their possessions and departed on foot from the embassy grounds, full of doubt and uncertainty about what awaited them.


	5. Chapter 5

Evans led the way as the group walked out onto the busy streets of Cairo. Dumbledore was close behind him, consulting a map that Doge had drawn up for him, and guiding Evans where to go. A chaotic scene was taking place all over the city. British soldiers were moving in every direction; fresh reinforcements were going towards the front, wounded and weary troops were returning to be relieved, and staff officers were frantically delivering messages to headquarters. Meanwhile, the local merchants were taking advantage of the opportunity and had set up their shops on the streets, selling everything from exquisite carpets to freshly made schawarma to cheap imitations of ancient artifacts. As soldiers walked by the merchants loudly and aggressively peddled their wares. Amidst all this, the rest of the city's population was attempting to go about their normal lives, willfully ignoring the fact that there was a war going on not too far away.

As the group pressed on through the mass of humanity, Evans suddenly found himself face to face with the person he least wanted to see at that moment. Standing in front of him, with his usual haughty expression was the Constable of Wankershire himself, Captain Reginald Whittington.

"Evans, what on earth are you and your men doing in Cairo? If you're here without authorization I'm going to put you on report, and I will take great pleasure in doing so," said Whittington, with a condescending tone of aristocratic smugness dripping from every word.

Evans hesitated; there was no way he could tell Whittington about the mission, not that he would want to anyway, but he was still Evans' superior and he would have to give him some sort of answer. "Colonel Collingwood authorized us to be here," he said, wishing he could just punch the pompous git in the face and be done with it.

"So you're jumping the chain of command now are we?" Whittington turned towards Dumbledore, "And just who the hell are you? I don't believe that beard is within regulations, and you definitely need a haircut, honestly Evans the standards you set for your men are disgraceful."

Before Evans had the chance to say anything that might get him into trouble, Dumbledore covertly reached for his wand and muttered, "Confundo."

Whittington took a step back, momentarily stunned, and then slapped Evans on the back, his stern expression now a jovial one. "Evans it's so great to see you, I don't know why but I feel so happy right now!"

Whittington then ran to the nearest street vendor, purchased a hot cup of coffee, and poured it over his head, staining his impeccably clean uniform. "I love this place, I feel so alive!" he said, as he ran off and disappeared into the crowd.

Evans breathed a sigh of relief as Bromhead looked on in amusement and MacDonald and Reynolds looked at each other and nodded. Dumbledore had officially won their approval.

They continued walking down a little used back alley and were finally away from the crowds. Dumbledore double checked his map, "This should be it."

He waved his wand over a nondescript brick wall and the outline of a door suddenly appeared. Dumbledore moved his hands around the edges of the door before figuring out how to push it open and walking through it. Evans walked through after him, motioning for the others to follow, and keeping one hand on the grip of his revolver, just in case.

One by one, they walked into a large room with an ancient décor that somewhat resembled a gallery at the British Museum. A very eccentric looking old woman was hovering in the middle of the room, sitting cross legged on a small magic carpet. She was dressed like an ancient Egyptian princess, and her unkempt hair was pointing in every possible direction.

"Albus Dumbledore and friends, I have foreseen your coming," she greeted them.

"The legendary Isis Shaharazad, it's a pleasure to finally meet you; Elphias sends his regards," said Dumbledore.

"Please, make yourselves comfortable," said Isis. She gradually lowered herself to the ground as her five guests took seats on cushions around a very low table.

"Evil times are upon us, the dark shadow is spreading, Grindelwald grows stronger by the day, and now, Albus Dumbledore comes here, seeking my advice," she added.

"Grindelwald has not won yet," Dumbledore reminded her, as he spread out a large map on the table. "Now let's discuss our business, so if one was looking to construct an army of the dead in Egypt how would one go about doing so?"

Isis' paused before asking with a grave expression, "Are you familiar with the Pharaoh Thutmose III?"

"I took an Egyptian history course in university," Evans chimed in, "He was a great conqueror, expanded the Egyptian kingdom to its greatest size."

"And his army was never defeated in battle," added Isis, "When he died, fifty thousand of his warriors were buried with him in the crypt. They were left there as a challenge to future rulers, that whoever could wield Thutmose's scepter and sit on his throne could reawaken the ancient army, and go on to even greater conquests."

"Sounds easy enough," said MacDonald offhandedly.

"Muggle archeologists have searched for Thutmose's crypt in the traditional Valley of Kings and they believe they have found it there," Isis continued, "However my research has indicated that the crypt is actually at another site further to the west." She indicated an area on Dumbledore's map.

"That's well behind German lines, we did a reconnaissance mission not too far from there" recalled Evans.

"Very interesting, and what of the scepter?" asked Dumbledore as he adjusted his half moon glasses.

"Thutmose's scepter is believed to be in a nearby crypt, probably around here," she said, indicating a spot no more than half a mile away from the other crypt. "Grindelwald's forces began excavating the site several days ago," she added.

"So we just sneak in and grab this scepter, and don't get shot, that seems pretty straightforward," said Bromhead, who wasn't the least bit intimidated.

Isis' expression turned even graver as the room seemed to darken. "Dark, ancient magic protects these objects; many have perished in their pursuit."

Dumbledore could sense the growing discomfort among his new friends and was anxious to depart. He thanked Isis for her help and folded up his map as the men got up and walked slowly towards the door.

"I must warn you, "Isis called out after them, "Grave danger awaits you should you attempt this task I have foreseen..."

"Good day Isis," Dumbledore said curtly, making sure he cut her off before she made any grisly predictions of their deaths.

The men filed out the door and back out into the alley, where they regrouped to discuss the new developments.

"Well she was really cheerful," said MacDonald sarcastically.

"Crazy old bat doesn't know what she's talking about," muttered Bromhead.

"Isis Shaharazad is a very intelligent woman, but like many people in these times she seems to have given up hope, and it is hope that will be our strongest weapon against the likes of Grindelwald and Hitler," stated Dumbledore in his best professorial tone.

Impressed by Dumbledore's wisdom and determination, the men resumed their trek on the busy street, stopping when they reached an Army supply depot. The supply officer on duty was a bit difficult to work with at first, but when Evans presented their authorization orders bearing General Brooke's signature, they had no trouble at all checking out a new truck, as well as all the provisions they would need.

After loading the truck with food, water, and fuel, Bromhead assumed his normal position in the driver's seat with Evans sitting next to him. Dumbledore took a seat next to MacDonald in the back row, and Reynolds manned to rear facing machine gun in the very back of the truck. As the truck's engine roared to life, they slowly pulled away from the busy city, and back into the vast empty desert.

Manfred Meisterberger swiftly made his way through the camp with Colonel Gruber following close behind. Gruber's regiment of Nazi SS troops was hard at work excavating the archaeological site. A constant cloud of thick dust filled the air from the constant digging. Everything was well ahead of schedule so far, but Meisterberger remained apprehensive; Grindelwald was a demanding master who did not tolerate failure.

The German army was already experienced in Egyptian archeology. They had been there before the war in search of the Ark of the Covenant, and many top Egyptologists were in their employ. Using their combined knowledge, it had not taken them long to determine the real site of Thutmose's crypt.

Their excavations so far had revealed a massive tomb with fifty thousand sarcophaguses in neatly arranged rows, with Thutmose's throne at its head. Now all that remained was to uncover the enchanted scepter, and the ancient indestructible army could be raised.

An eager young Lieutenant approached them and snapped a crisp one armed salute. "Sir, we've uncovered another crypt, we believe it may be where the scepter is hidden."

"Well what are you waiting for, it must be retrieved," snapped Gruber.

The lieutenant paused, "Sir, five men have been killed already trying to access the crypt, something ancient and powerful does not want us to be there."

"Would you like to explain to Berlin why you were unable to succeed?" said Gruber sternly.

"No sir, we will redouble our efforts and we will not fail," replied the lieutenant.

"I hope so, for your sake," growled Meisterberger, lightly tapping his wand.

Evans consulted his map as the truck drove deeper into the desert. The sun beating down on them caused an oppressive inescapable heat, which was only made worse by their close quarters and the heat of the engine.

"There's a supply station 50 km south of here, we can stop there to refuel," said Evans, looking at his compass.

"That won't be necessary, there are spells that can take care of that," Dumbledore informed him.

Dumbledore went on to explain how the aguamento spell could keep their water refilled, and a simple reparo charm should take care of any maintenance issues that arise, as the men were deciding that they liked Dumbledore more and more.

After hours of uneventful driving, they pulled behind a large sand dune to find a place to camp out for the night. As the sun disappeared over the horizon, the temperature rapidly dropped. The intense heat of the desert sun gave way to the cold chill of the night. Dumbledore reached into his enchanted bag and began to set up his tent as the others organized their equipment. He stopped the others when they began to set up their own tents, "I believe my tent will be sufficient for us all."

They scoffed at the appearance of his seemingly normal sized tent, but he opened it up to reveal a much larger tent on the inside, with five separate sleeping compartments, and a fully furnished common area in the middle. They took seats in the common area as Bromhead distributed their supper rations of canned pork and vegetables.

"Canned pork again, what a surprise," groaned MacDonald. "Wait, Dumbledore, is it possible for you to magic us some better food?"

Dumbledore laughed, "I'm afraid there are certain limits to magic, Gramp's Third Law of Transfiguration to be precise, and I happen to find canned pork delicious."

"Well at least we'll have a good dessert; I managed to nick some chocolate cake from the supply depot," said Reynolds, grinning widely.

"That's why we keep the Aussie around, the nation of convicts trains them well," explained MacDonald.

"It's certainly useful, all they teach you in Scotland is how to wear a skirt," Reynolds shot back.

"It's not a skirt, it's a kilt, and they also teach us to play bagpipes you numsie," responded MacDonald.

"See what I have to deal with every day?" the slightly exasperated Evans said to Dumbledore.

Dumbledore chuckled, trying to decide which former students the soldiers most reminded him of.

"You mentioned you were a professor, what subject do you teach?" asked Evans.

"Transfiguration, it can be a very complicated subject, but I believe I can best explain it through a demonstration." Dumbledore pointed his wand at a discarded can on the ground and muttered an incantation. Suddenly, the can was transformed into a monkey that ran several circles around the tent before turning back into a can.

"I definitely went to the wrong school," said Reynolds, shaking his head.

"How do you deal with the unruly students?" asked Bromhead, with a mischievous gleam in his eye.

"There is a wide range of detention options," explained Dumbledore, "cleaning the kitchens, clearing plants in the Forbidden Forest, exile to the dungeons…"

"Don't give that man any ideas," implored MacDonald as Bromhead appeared to be making mental notes of Dumbledore's suggestions.

The four soldiers and Dumbledore talked for hours, comparing and contrasting their respective worlds, until finally the conversation turned to the war.

"How did your lot get mixed up in this war anyway?" asked Bromhead.

"Grindelwald, just like Hitler believes that certain people are less valuable than others and should be oppressed. The evil they stand for is the same, and it affects us all, wizard and non-wizard alike," answered Dumbledore.

He continued, "Though we come from different places and have different abilities, the most important thing we can do in these times is stand together. While the task may seem daunting, together we can achieve great things."

On that serious note, they collectively decided it was time for bed and retreated to their sleeping compartments. They all retrieved their army issued grey blankets, except for MacDonald, who had insisted on bringing his tartan MacDonald clan blanket from home. Alone in their corner of the desert, they slept peacefully, awaiting the dangers that the next day would bring.


	6. Chapter 6

As the sunlight crept over the endless expanse of sand, Dumbledore and Evans consulted their maps one last time before departing their campsite. In a few more kilometers, they would be within German lines, and a little bit beyond that was the archeological site. Dumbledore informed the group that a basic concealment charm would be sufficient to ensure that the German army did not observe them, because apparently hiding from muggles was not all that difficult.

They proceeded driving, passing several German columns and campsites, while trying to keep a reasonable distance. Dumbledore's concealment charm had held up well, but it was still a very strange feeling for the men to be that perilously close to their enemies. There was no conversation during this ride, as the tension thickened the closer they got to their objective. The soldiers kept their eyes glued on the horizon while Dumbledore glanced through the _Gringott's Guide to Egyptian Curse Breaking_. Every once in a while a German truck would come a little too close for comfort, but aside from that the journey was otherwise uneventful.

In the late afternoon, they arrived at the spot indicated on the map. After hiding the truck as best they could, they crouched behind a dune and peered down into the valley below, where German soldiers were hard at work digging up two separate crypts. They couldn't help but feel humbled by the thousands of years of ancient history spread out before them. "We'll wait here until nightfall, and then we move," decided Dumbledore.

They spent the next several hours in stillness and complete silence, until the sun descended beneath the dunes and the cold desert night set in again. On Dumbledore's signal, they gradually and stealthily crawled their way into the site below. Fortunately, it appeared that the Germans, overconfident in the security of their position, had neglected to post sentries. Fairly certain that they had not been noticed, Dumbledore led the way towards the less exposed of the two crypts, surmising that this was likely to be the one that held the scepter.

Dumbledore withdrew his wand as he cautiously probed around the entrance to the crypt. He used a wind charm to remove the deep layers of dust and sand that had accumulated on the ancient limestone, until the original door and inscriptions were visible. He quickly concluded that it was magically sealed, and that a simple "Alohomora" spell would not be sufficient. As a master of ancient runes, he quickly translated the large and intricate hieroglyphic inscriptions on the walls. "It requires blood, sweat and tears to enter," he said, "Somebody please cut me."

"That's preposterous," objected Evans, who was feeling increasingly uncomfortable with the overall situation.

Dumbledore held firm, "We are on magical grounds now, if we are to survive, you must be prepared to do exactly as I instruct, regardless of the danger it places me in."

Reluctantly, Evans pulled out his field knife and drew some blood from Dumbledore's hand, which he allowed to drip onto the door. After the day's exertions in the heat, there was no difficulty in summoning sweat. Seeing no other options, Dumbledore then forced himself to think about Arianna, until he had finally shed a tear. When all three had been contributed, the massive stone door slowly swung open, making a low, rumbling noise.

Dumbledore led the way as they walked single file into the pitch dark crypt. As they made their initial entrance, they could not even see their own hands in front of their faces, and they were haunted by the faint sound of creatures, not sure if they were real or imagined.

"Lumos!" exclaimed Dumbledore, as his wand illuminated their immediate vicinity.

Evans lit his Army issued torch for additional light as Bromhead, Reynolds, and MacDonald fell in line and followed close behind, nervously wielding their rifles.

They were in a large anteroom whose walls were covered in colorful ancient murals depicting Egyptian gods and goddesses fighting a massive battle. A heavy aura of mystery filled the air as they cautiously made their way towards a very narrow corridor. As they methodically walked across the room, they heard some uncomfortable crunches as they trod over the centuries old bones of those who had previously broken into the tomb. They were afraid and disgusted; and yet they pressed on, trusting Dumbledore.

Dumbledore guided them as they crowded into the narrow corridor and they struggled to breathe in the foul smelling air that had been stagnant for many centuries. They carefully placed one foot in front of the other as their footsteps sank into the soft sand beneath them, feeling very tense, as if danger could be sprung at any moment. As Dumbledore carefully trod, he felt his right foot not sink naturally into the sand the way his other footsteps had as he had probably stepped on a different surface. Sensing something was amiss, he shouted, "Get down, quickly!"

As a group, they dove and hit the ground in unison as a massive volley of arrows went whizzing by, mere centimeters above their heads.

"A classic trap, and one which I should have anticipated," Dumbledore said calmly as he stood up and continued walking. The men slowly stood up and followed, not sure how many more "classic traps" they could endure.

As they reached the end of the corridor, there was a sudden burst of activity as a creature jumped out in front of them. They spun around in panic, wondering what type of creature was confronting them, until it finally took a seat in front of them, revealing a lion like form with a human head.

"A bloody sphinx, you have got to be joking!" Evans exclaimed in shock and disbelief.

"Yes, they do exist, and they're quite dangerous," Dumbledore calmly assured him.

The sphinx sat down in from of them and began to speak, "In order to pass any further you must provide the correct answer to my riddle. If you fail to do so, I will be forced to kill all of you."

There was a nervous silence as the men anticipated her riddle, hoping it would not be too difficult, and placing to trust in Dumbledore to figure it out.

The sphinx began, "I can be kept after I am given away; what am I?"

Trying desperately to think clearly, the men huddled together to confer. "That sounds like the clap," MacDonald thought out loud.

Bromhead gave him a swift elbow to the stomach, "You stupid git! Are you trying to get us killed?"

"I'm talking about a round of applause; it keeps spreading joy after you give one, what did you think I meant?" MacDonald responded.

Evans shook his head, "No, it has to be something more eccentric than that, keep thinking."

Dumbledore was deep in contemplation and had not heard any of this. When he was confident in his answer, he spoke up. "A promise, you can keep a promise after you give one."

A thick tension filled the air and heartbeats raced as they waited in suspense for the sphinx's response. Finally the sphinx spoke, "You are correct, at long last I am free," and with that, she disappeared.

Breathing a deep sigh of relief, they continued their slow, cautious walk. "That didn't seem too difficult, I don't know why the Nazis couldn't figure that one out," Reynolds observed.

"Well if they were smart they probably wouldn't have been Nazis in the first place," Evans nervously joked, trying desperately to maintain his nerve.

They pressed on until they reached a small room and the path did not continue any further. At the front of the room was a fairly large rectangular box of stone, which they assumed must contain the scepter. Keeping on the alert, Dumbledore methodically performed tracing charms and scanned the box for curses, finding none. When he assured the others it was safe, they carefully lifted the heavy stone lid from the box and set it aside, making a loud scraping noise in the process. With the box now open, they gathered round to peer inside, not knowing what to expect. Their eyes were met with amazement as the found an ornate gold scepter, still shining brightly despite being thousands of years old. It was encrusted with the largest ruby any of them had ever seen, which was about the size of a tennis ball.

Dumbledore warned them, "Stand back, there may be further protections at work."

He carefully balanced his weight, taking extra care to cause as little disturbances as possible, as he gingerly slid one hand underneath the scepter and timidly began to lift it up. He exhaled deeply when he finally safely removed the scepter, and he couldn't help but feel that the whole thing was a bit anticlimactic.

Dumbledore turned around to display the scepter, as everybody in the group felt a deep sigh of relief and began to let their guard down just a little bit. They began to laugh and slap each other on the back when they were interrupted by a slight rumbling noise that seemed to be coming from the ceiling.

"What the hell was that?" exclaimed MacDonald.

"I'm sure it's nothing," said Evans, trying to reassure himself.

The rumbling continued as a previously unnoticed trap door in the ceiling began to slide open. They were completely shocked when from out of the door, a viscous, six foot tall scorpion suddenly feel into the room.

"Get behind me!" Dumbledore yelled as he reached for his wand! Before he could act, the scorpion violently thrust its venomous tail in his direction, scoring a direct hit. The poison rushing through his body, Dumbledore collapsed to the ground as he quickly faded from consciousness.

The soldiers ran for cover, their bodies acting instinctively before their minds could process everything, as the scorpion thrashed about wildly in every direction.

"Somebody shoot it!" Bromhead called out, as he wildly fired some rifle shots in the air, which did nothing more than kick up a large cloud of dust as they ricocheted off the walls.

"We can't it's too fast!" called out Evans as he tucked himself and rolled hard to his left, narrowly avoiding the scorpion's tail. Thinking quickly as he rolled back and forth, an idea came to him. "Reynolds, you worked on a farm, can't you rope it or something?"

"That's absolutely mental but it just might work," shouted Reynolds, as he dove behind the stone table, hoping its minimal protection would buy him enough time to prepare his rope.

The others ran around, continuing to dodge the scorpion's wild movements. With a powerful swing of its tail, the scorpion knocked out a portion of the wall, sending rubble flying, the force of which knocked MacDonald to the ground. Sensing vulnerability, the beast slowed down and crept towards him, preparing to attack its prey. Unfortunately for the scorpion, this was the opportunity that Reynolds needed. As it closed in on MacDonald, Reynolds snuck up behind, slinging a lasso around its neck. It thrashed about, attempting to free itself, which only increased Reynolds' grip. Bromhead rolled underneath the frantically flailing scorpion and then quickly stood up, sticking it with a bayonet in its midsection. Grievously wounded, the scorpion's movements became weaker and weaker until it collapsed on the ground. With the creature now cornered, Evans carefully approached it and fired several shots from his revolver at point blank range until the movements ceased altogether.

"Next time we fight a giant scorpion, let's not use me as the bloody bait!" exclaimed MacDonald, as he got up and dusted himself off.

Evans took a deep breath, and complimented the others on their outstanding teamwork before rushing to check on Dumbledore. "He's still breathing," said Evans as he crouched down close to Dumbledore, "But he needs help, let's grab the scepter and get him out of here!"

As the men rushed to Dumbledore's side, they soon heard the echoing of a large number of footsteps in the corridor, which gradually became louder as they drew nearer.

"Sounds like we're about to have company!" exclaimed Bromhead, as he rushed towards the entrance to have a look. He quickly noticed a large group of German soldiers with what appeared to be a wizard at its head rapidly approaching their position. When they noticed him, he attempted to open fire with his rifle, but he watched helplessly as the bullets deflected harmlessly off a shield charm cast by the wizard.

"Expiliarmus!" cried the wizard, and Bromhead's rifle flew out of his hands as he fell backwards. Reynolds and MacDonald charged forward and were hit with body-bind curses. Evans, who had been attempting to hide Dumbledore, was kicked to the ground before he could react and soon found German rifles pointed at his face.

Meisterberger scanned the scene. After noticing that the door of the crypt was open, he had awoken the troops and followed the intruders inside, and they had led him straight to his goal. "You fools have simplified my task," he said as he grabbed the scepter and cradled it in his arms. While satisfied with the result, he was flummoxed how a small group of British soldiers had managed to make it past the enchantments. Finally noticing the unconscious Dumbledore, he asked, "Who is this man?"

"He's our commanding officer, obviously he's a bit older," answered Evans in an obvious fib.

Meisterberger kicked Evans angrily. "Do not lie to me! How did this man get past the enchantments?"

Evans thought quickly, "The British Museum sent him here; he's a scholar of Egypt."

Meisterberger was deeply suspicious, but it seemed to be a plausible explanation. He ordered the troops to tie up the prisoners, leaving two behind as guards. "We must now complete our mission," he told the troops. He shot a sinister glace towards Evans, "I will deal with the prisoners later, and it will not be pleasant," he snarled. He spit on the ground for emphasis as he turned and walked away with the troops following close behind.

As the footsteps faded away in the corridor, Evans assessed the situation. There were four of them, plus the unconscious Dumbledore, being watched over by two armed guards. If they could somehow manage to untie themselves, the scales would be in their favour. As the effects of the curse they had endured wore off, Evans shared a knowing glance with Reynolds; their plan was in motion.

Of the many skills Will Reynolds had acquired growing up in the wild and unforgiving environment of the Australian outback, one of them was a thorough knowledge of knots, every type of them. Intently concentrating and painfully straining his wrists, he soon managed to undo his bounds. Remaining still so as not to alert the guards, he whispered to MacDonald, "Do you think the guards know English?"

"Hitler is a ponce!" MacDonald called out rather loudly. When that earned nothing more than a brief quizzical glance from the guards, he concluded, "No, I don't think they do."

"Hold still, I'm going to untie you," Reynolds told MacDonald, as he slid over, still pretending to be tied up himself.

Yearning to cause a distraction, Evans strained to remember the one year of German he had taken in school. "Guten Tag," he called out to the guards, who curiously approached him.

Evans began to engage them in conversation, hoping the others would act quickly because his limited German would not hold up for long. With the guards now fully engrossed in talking to Evans, the still tied up Bromhead slid forward and tripped them up with a swift leg sweep. The stunned guards were then immediately tackled by Reynolds and MacDonald, who had snuck up behind them, and were knocked out after a few quick blows.

"That was brilliant lads, now let's save this old codger," said Evans. As they untied him, he retrieved Dumbledore's bag, which had been confiscated by the guards and rushed to Dumbledore's side, while the others tied up the guards. Hastily rifling through the cluttered bag, he found a small white box which he assumed must be the wizard equivalent of a first aid kit. He tried several different vials which seemed to be healing potions but to no effect. Finally, he found a small bag labeled "bezoars, for emergency use only." Deciding that this definitely qualified as an emergency, Evans grabbed one of the small round objects and placed it inside Dumbledore's mouth.

Dumbledore's eyes opened wide as he snapped to attention and exclaimed, "I'll have three chocolate frogs and a butterbeer!" He was clearly still a bit delirious from the effects of the poison.

Evans propped the slowly recovering Dumbledore up against the wall and quickly formulated a plan. "Bromhead, take their uniforms," he said, pointing to the guards. "We'll go in as Germans; pretend we're taking the others as prisoners to the other crypt."

"And then we jump them!" MacDonald added excitedly.

"And remember, they don't know Dumbledore's a wizard, so we can use that to our advantage," said Evans, amazed that Dumbledore somehow still had his wand.

Evans quickly changed into the German uniform as he helped Dumbledore walk through the crypt. When they were outside once more, they surveyed the scene. The other crypt, a few hundred yards away, seemed to be bustling with activity. There were two guards posted at the entrance, and the rest of the German force seemed to be inside. With the uniform and weapons they had taken from the guards, Evans and Bromhead approached the entrance, leading Reynolds and MacDonald at gunpoint. Dumbledore, who was quickly recovering and now able to support himself, trailed behind unnoticed.

The guards asked a few questions in German that Evans couldn't quite understand, but before they had time to react, MacDonald and Reynolds had jumped the first guard while a stunning spell from Dumbledore took care of the other one. They dragged the unconscious guards around the corner and took their uniforms, so that all four soldiers were now dressed as Germans. Dumbledore informed them that he could sneak in after them with a concealment charm.

As Evans led the way into the crypt, it was obvious that they were not alone inside. Noticing a stairwell that led up to a balcony, he decided this was a wiser path to take. The men walked up the stairs and out onto the small balcony, and found themselves looking down on a massive room with rows upon rows of sarcophaguses that seemed to belong to ancient warriors. Far away from them at the front of the room, there was a large throne facing the army of mummies. Meisterberger was standing in front of the throne, holding the scepter, and appeared to be beginning some sort of incantation. There was a German Colonel and three of four others who appeared to be wizards standing next to him, and a few hundred soldiers gathered around them. Dark clouds of trepidation hung over the room as one could almost feel the mummies stirring, buzzing with the anticipation that they may soon be returning to the land of the living.

"We don't have much time, that scepter must be destroyed," a very concerned Dumbledore informed them. Deciding to try the most obvious option first, he aimed his wand in that direction and cast, "Accio scepter!"

Nothing happened. Of course it wouldn't be that simple.

"Can't you just zap it or something?" MacDonald asked eagerly.

"Deep ancient magic is protecting that scepter, we need to find another way," answered Dumbledore.

Completely bereft of any other ideas, Evans tried thinking outside the box, "The Egyptians didn't know about rifles, did they?"

Dumbledore paused; he never would have considered that option, but now that he thought about it, it just might work. This was Muggle ingenuity at its finest.

"Something that small, from this distance, that's nearly impossible," said Bromhead dismissively.

Reynolds, the most accurate shooter in the group, then spoke up, "It's not impossible, I used to shoot wombats in the canyon back home, and those aren't much bigger than that."

"Remind me to never go anywhere without an Aussie," remarked MacDonald in amazement.

Seeing no harm in trying, Dumbledore and Evans agreed to let Reynolds take the shot. Reynolds breathed deeply as he calmly lined up the sights of the captured German rifle. It was a difficult shot, but not an impossible one. He could hear his own heartbeat pounding in his ears as he took careful aim, the others remaining completely silent so as not to distract him. Shooting wombats in the Outback was one thing, but the stakes were just a little bit higher here.

Aiming for the large ruby in the center of the scepter, he finally squeezed the trigger. For a brief moment, everything hung in the balance as they waited for the result. The whole world seemed to stand still as the fate of their mission, and even the war as a whole, seemed to rest on the success or failure of this one shot. The tension was thick enough to be cut with a knife as everything seemed to happen in slow motion. Finally, after an instant that felt like an eternity, the ruby shattered into thousands of fragments as the bullet found its mark.

Chaos erupted as the stunned Meisterberger frantically searched for an intruder. He and the other wizards were shooting curses in every possible direction, not sure what they were aiming at, but hoping to hit something. Following the lead of their magical colleagues, the German soldiers loudly and confusedly fired their weapons in no particular direction.

"Great shot Reynolds!" shouted Evans as they rapidly descended the stairwell, blending in nicely in their German uniforms, and firing their rifles in the air to contribute to the general confusion.

With a great leap, Meisterberger suddenly appeared at the foot of the stairs, blocking their path, as Dumbledore chose that moment to reveal himself.

"I knew it, the old man was a wizard!" shouted Meisterberger. "Avada Kedavra!" he exclaimed, shooting green light from his wand.

In one complex motion, Dumbledore made a jump resembling a pirouette as he deftly dodged the killing curse and responded with a stunning spell of his own. The red light from Dumbledore's wand hit Meisterberger square in the chest, driving him backwards and knocking him out.

Dumbledore stepped over his unconscious foe as a mighty low rumbling noise began to be heard. The base of the walls began to shake and massive cracks opened up in the roof, causing large quantities of dust and dirt to come raining down.

"What's happening?" Evans asked him urgently, his face as white as a ghost.

"It appears to be something of a magical self destruction system if you will. It must have been a safeguard installed by the Pharaoh many years ago. The crypt can sense the conflict within and it's collapsing for its own protection," explained Dumbledore.

Heeding Dumbledore's warning, they asked no more questions and ran for their lives. Dumbledore took up a position near the exit and cast a shield charm as his comrades scurried out the door.

"Come on!" they shouted, as a large stone door began to lower itself. Realizing that the rest of the group had made it out, Dumbledore broke off the shield charm and ran as fast as he could, sliding and tumbling underneath the massive door just before it slammed shut with a mighty crash.

With a series of loud and fiery explosions, the tomb behind them collapsed on itself, emitting the full fury of a very ancient magic. Without looking back, they kept running over the steep gradient of a nearby sand dune until they collapsed behind its protection, exhausted and out of breath. The air of the calm desert night provided a much needed respite from the chaos they had just been a part of.

Dumbledore took a moment to glance back on the destruction of the now abandoned site, knowing that his mission was successful, and Grindelwald had just suffered a major setback. The war was far from over, but the first blow had been struck.


	7. Chapter 7

Daisy dropped the incoming message on her desk, in utter disbelief of what she had just read. Over the past few weeks she had been handling the communications for the mission that that strange Dumbledore fellow had been up to in Egypt, but she had been kept in the dark as to most of the details. Now she held in her hands the official after action report, and its contents were shocking. As a student of classical civilizations, she had read a great deal about the crypts and tombs of ancient Egypt, always taking a skeptical eye to the more sensational stories. But now, right before her eyes, the most farfetched Egyptian adventure possible was being completely confirmed.

Hoping she would not be overheard, Daisy leaned over to the adjacent cubicle, "Lydia, did you read these dispatches yet?"

"It's better than any novel I've ever read," confirmed Lydia, her eyes wide in amazement.

It was a very exciting time to be at Bletchley Park. The staff's code breakers had recently scored a major coup by acquiring a German Enigma machine, which would allow the Royal Navy to break the coded messages sent by their German counterparts. With this victory combined with the exciting and successful conclusion to Dumbledore's recent mission, the mood in the estate was nearly celebratory.

"So Daisy, what are you doing to celebrate our successes?" asked Lydia, with a slightly mischievous grin beginning to form on her face.

Daisy rolled her eyes, wanting no part of whatever Lydia might be planning, "We're still in the middle of a war, I hardly think a celebration is appropriate."

Lydia insisted, "We just finished a huge mission, there's likely going to be plenty more missions to come, and tomorrow is our first day off in ages, we need to take advantage of it."

"Well, I actually had plans to see a man tonight," said Daisy sheepishly.

"Oh, really? What's his name?" asked Lydia, not believing it for a second.

"His name is Charles," answered Daisy, trying her best to maintain a serious expression.

"Charles who?" Lydia prodded, still not willing to believe her.

"Charles Dickens. I was going to finish reading _Bleak House_ tonight," Daisy finally admitted.

"Oh Daisy, I know you're an educated woman and all that but you can't just spend your life alone with your books," said Lydia, deeply concerned for her friend. "Please don't take this the wrong way but I feel like since we've been working hear you've kind of let yourself go, I mean you're a very pretty girl and I just don't want to see you end up as one of those old cat ladies."

Daisy was somewhat offended by Lydia's statement, but catching a glimpse of her reflection in the window, she acknowledged to herself that there was a degree of validity to it. She was wearing a drab grey sweater, her red hair was pulled back tightly and fastened with a rubber band, and her brilliant green eyes were obscured behind her thick reading glasses. Meanwhile, Lydia's long brown hair was fashionably done in the latest American style, although Daisy wasn't sure who she was trying to impress considering that most of the men they worked with were professors twice their age.

"Fine, we'll go to the Horse and Plow tonight," conceded Daisy, referring to the local pub just down the road from the estate.

"Daisy, nobody goes there but our co-workers, I'm saying we should go out somewhere proper, somewhere in London," replied Lydia.

"London? Are you mad? Haven't you heard about the air raids?" protested Daisy.

"Come on Daisy, live a little," Lydia responded playfully.

"Having bombs dropped on you doesn't sound very conducive to living," Daisy huffed.

"There will be boys in uniform there, our own age, maybe even RAF pilots," Lydia pleaded. During a slow moment at work a few days ago, they had ranked different military units on their desirability. Royal Air Force pilots were the runaway favorite, followed in second by naval officers.

Somewhat reluctantly, Daisy finally gave her consent, realizing the complete futility of arguing when Lydia was this set on something.

They were interrupted by the approach of Alistair Thorndale, who was walking quickly and carrying a large file folder. "Excuse me ladies, my apologies, I know you were supposed to have tomorrow off, but a very important meeting has been scheduled at the last minute, so I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you to come in."

"See, I told you going out tonight was a bad idea," whispered Daisy.

"It's too late Daisy, you agreed to it," said Lydia triumphantly.

Daisy put her head down on the desk, wondering what she had just gotten herself into.

Evans looked up in awe at the bright lights of Piccadilly Circus, slowly taking in the sights and sounds of the busy city. Even under threat of attack, London remained the most dynamic city in the world, and Evans could not put into words just how great it us to be back in his home country.

After the successful completion of their mission in Egypt, the squad had returned to the British Embassy in Cairo where Dumbledore departed the same way he had come, through the fireplace. After Evans sent off his lengthy dispatches summarizing the mission to some unknown office on the home front, they had received official orders to return to England for "debriefing." They weren't exactly sure what that entailed, but nonetheless they were thrilled to be heading home.

After a long but uneventful journey by sea, they had been met at the Plymouth dock yards by two quiet men in dark suits, who they could safely assume were government agents of some sort. The government men had driven them on a very roundabout route to a nondescript safe house in central London, with orders to be ready to be picked up at 0700 the following morning to be taken to their mysterious meeting. In the absence of higher authorities, the men were now interpreting that order to mean that they had a free night in London.

"I still don't think this is a great idea," said Evans, deeply worried about what kind of trouble MacDonald and Reynolds would get themselves into.

"Don't worry Mr. Evans, if these two get into any kind of trouble at all I'll have them standing night watches until the war ends," Bromhead assured him.

MacDonald and Reynolds voiced their objections as once again Evans was thankful to have Bromhead around so he never had to be the bad guy. As they walked down the surprisingly busy streets, they realized that all the rumors they had heard in their letters from home were true; that despite the constant danger, London's night life was defiantly thriving.

After walking quite a ways they arrived at what seemed to be a fairly popular night club and walked inside.

"Why do I have a sneaking suspicion that we're going to run into Captain Whittington here?" Evans mused.

Bromhead laughed, "That's about as likely as West Ham winning the league next year."

They pressed their way through the crowd and found an open table. They were wearing their newly cleaned dress uniforms, a drastic change from the worn and ragged desert khakis they had grown accustomed to. All around them were other young men from every branch of the service, enjoying one of their few precious nights off. If it weren't for all the uniforms, one would have never guessed that there was a war going on. There was a festive atmosphere as a large jazz band played the latest hits from America. Large numbers of young women mingled with the servicemen, and all of them seemed determined not to let any silly German bombers ruin their fun.

At MacDonald's insistence, the group ordered a round of scotch and waited patiently for their waiter to return. It had been so long since any of them had enjoyed a good drink that they had almost forgotten what it was like.

Finally, with drinks in hand, Evans proposed a toast, "To our successful mission."

"Here, Here!" exclaimed the others, as they clanged glasses and took the most highly anticipated sip of a beverage they had ever taken. They had splurged for rare high end scotch, and it had certainly been worth the wait.

As they began to share their respective recollections of their recent adventures, they were interrupted by an approaching voice. "Johnny Evans, is that really you?"

Evans turned around and was shocked to see Roger Cranford, his closest friend from his student days, in the dark blue dress uniform of a Royal Air Force pilot.

"Roger, I can't believe this, it's so great to see you again!" exclaimed Evans, as they embraced in the manliest and least awkward way possible.

"Look at you John, what daft idiot made you an infantry officer?" Roger teased.

"Probably the same daft idiot that made you a pilot," Evans shot back.

Evans indicated his colleagues sitting at the table, "Roger, this is Nigel Bromhead, Will Reynolds, and Duncan MacDonald."

"It's a pleasure gentlemen, I'm Roger Cranford," said Roger, acknowledging each one. "So how do you like working with Mr. Evans here? Is he a strict one?"

"Oh no, Mr. Evans lets us do what we want, we seem to get away with a lot," said MacDonald.

"He's one of the good officers, and we've seen plenty of bad ones," added Reynolds, the memory of Captain Whittington still fresh in his mind.

"Well then you may or may not be surprised to learn that John Evans is the most notorious prankster Cambridge University has ever seen," Roger informed them.

"I don't believe it," objected MacDonald, "I just picture him sitting around and reading books all the time."

"He usually lets our pranks slide but he would never actually do one himself," Reynolds added.

Roger laughed, "Well you obviously weren't there for our last year at Cambridge, when he set some sheep loose in the chapel."

MacDonald, Reynolds, and even the serious Bromhead burst out laughing, as they were discovering a side of Evans they had never seen before. Roger continued with more slightly embarrassing stories as Evans listened helplessly, watching the façade of being a serious army officer that he had worked so hard to construct come crumbling down. However, his concerns were misplaced. His credibility, far from being eroded, was becoming greatly enhanced in the eyes of his men, who were finally learning of his sense of humour.

Roger rose from the table after they had talked for quite some time and ordered several more rounds of drinks, trading stories of their school days and of their experiences in the war so far, at least those that they were allowed to talk about. Taking his leave, Roger announced to the group, "Well I'm sure you didn't come here to hear some pilot tell stories, you probably came here to find some female company, which is what I'm off to do now. John, you'll be joining me of course."

"Thanks Roger, but I am quite to content to sit here and finish my scotch," said Evans.

"Come on John, as we say in the Air Force, you should never fly without your wingman, plus it might do you some good," Roger insisted.

"He's right you know," Bromhead spoke up, "You could use a woman in your life Mr. Evans."

Evans was incredulous, "Nigel, coming from you of all people, the whole time we were in North Africa I never saw you write to a girl once."

Bromhead scoffed, "If the Army wanted me to have a wife they would have issued me one, you should know that by now."

Not in the mood for an argument, Evans rose from his chair, reluctantly agreeing to follow his friend. The truth was he was utterly clueless when it came to women. Not that he had many opportunities to meet them, having attended one of Cambridge's all male colleges and currently being in the Army. Despite these disadvantages, so many of his classmates and colleagues, in particular Roger, always seemed to so effortlessly have girls following them around, leaving Evans wondering what mystical power they must possess and how to harness it. He couldn't help remembering the last formal ball he attended at Cambridge with a local girl Roger had introduced him to. He remembered how painfully awkward it felt trying to force conversation topics, and how she apparently had no interest in hearing about the research he was doing for his thesis paper on Lord Byron's poetry.

They walked around scanning the room for a while, attempting to lock on to something in a target rich environment. At first glance, all the young ladies in attendance were either already being chatted up by men in uniform, or were talking amongst themselves in impenetrable groups. Finally, close to the bar, they spotted a glamorous well dressed brunette who was trying to appear coy, but couldn't prevent her eyes from shooting inviting glances towards Roger. Meanwhile, her red haired friend, who appeared attractive in her own right but in a more bookishly shy sort of way, seemed to be staring off into space, even more apprehensive about being there than Evans was.

Sensing an opening, Roger quickly approached the two ladies with Evans in tow. "What are two nice girls like you doing alone in a place like this?" he asked them, with a suave confidence in his voice.

Evans was appalled by the brazen garishness of that line, and he was both greatly amused and slightly frustrated that Roger's cheesy approach almost always seemed to work.

The brunette stumbled over her answer, "Well…err…maybe we were waiting to be rescued by a pilot." She was trying her best to maintain eye contact, but her eyes were drawn to the wings on Roger's uniform, not believing her luck at having met an actual RAF pilot. With his perfectly coifed dark hair, tan by British standards complexion, and the athletic frame of a former Cambridge cricket captain, Roger looked as if he could fit right in with American movie stars like Clark Gable and Gary Cooper. Add in the uniform, and he was basically a walking RAF recruitment poster.

"And what would your name be Miss Damsel in Distress?" he asked, somehow managing to sound endearing and condescending at the same time.

"Lydia," answered the brunette, "And this is my friend Daisy."

"Lydia, what a lovely name. I'm Roger and this is John, at your service Madame," he responded. 'So Lydia, would you like to dance?"

She happily nodded and Roger led her out onto the dance floor, turning back to give Evans a look that seemed to say, "I got you in the door, now you have to close the deal."

Evans watched, struggling to understand how Roger managed to pull off his smooth act, and why girls always seemed to fall for it. He looked back at Daisy, who was awkwardly staring at the floor, and he soon found himself doing the same. They were about five feet apart from each other in an awkward standoff, neither one really sure how to break the ice.

"Lydia's really living up to her name, chasing after officers like that," Daisy observed, to nobody in particular.

"Is that a _Pride and Prejudice_ reference? You're comparing her to Lydia Bennett, chasing after Mr. Wickham?" Evans asked nervously.

Daisy looked at him incredulously, "You've read Jane Austen?" A man who knew Jane Austen was a rare find indeed.

"Well, I studied English Literature at Cambridge," Evans answered her. Being the modest man he was, he was usually reluctant to admit his academic credentials.

Daisy smiled, "Well how did you enjoy attending a second rate university?"

Evans looked at her quizzically, that was certainly not the type of reaction he was expecting.

"I went to Oxford," she explained, "I studied classical languages."

Evans exhaled, not believing his luck at having discovered such an intellect. Now that he knew of their mutual literary interests, he found it easy to steer the conversation in that direction. They were beginning to feel comfortable around each other as they became involved in a deep discussion about romanticism and the industrial revolution. An excited murmur spread through the crowd as the band began to play one of the new popular swing dances.

"Do you know how to swing dance?" Daisy asked.

"Yes, of course," Evans lied. Evans looked around the room as they walked towards the dance floor. MacDonald and Reynolds were already out on the floor, making drunken fools of themselves. Meanwhile Bromhead was sitting with a group of older World War I veterans, presumably discussing military tactics.

Evans took Daisy's hand as he carefully tried to mimic the movements of the couples dancing all around them, finding it easier than expected. Feeling slightly emboldened, Evans gradually attempted more and more audacious moves, until he attempted to spin Daisy in a complicated twirl, only to lose his grip and send her flying. With a loud crash, she slammed into a nearby cocktail table. The table flipped over on its side, spilling several glasses of red wine on Daisy's blue dress.

Completely mortified, Evans ran over, hoping to help her up and profusely apologize. But before he could make it, the evening was interrupted by the unmistakable high pitched wails of the air raid sirens. The lights flickered off as a large mass of people pushed towards the exits.

Evans quickly reverted to Army officer mode, and was now solely focused on getting his men out safely. He was able to find Bromhead in the confusing mass of a crowd, and together they grabbed MacDonald and Reynolds, who were very reluctant to leave. In a surprisingly orderly fashion, the crowd spilled outside and into the nearby underground station that was serving as an air raid shelter.

Evans looked through the massive crowd huddled together in the station. Roger, Lydia, and Daisy were nowhere to be seen. He quickly pushed those thoughts out of his mind. He had safely extracted his team from a dangerous situation, and that was the only mission that should matter to him right now.

"Bloody Germans, they ruin everything," said MacDonald, as the bombs began to fall overhead.

Evans looked out the window of the government car that had been sent to pick them up. By some miracle, they had all been ready to leave on time, although MacDonald had needed a little help getting his uniform on properly. They had left London and driven for hours on winding country roads, taking the most indirect route possible to wherever they were going, just in case they were being followed. Evans couldn't help thinking about Daisy, and regretting that he never had the opportunity to apologize to her, let alone obtain her surname or a mailing address. He concluded that it was probably for the best, and that there was no use getting mixed up in anything while the war was still going on.

They finally arrived outside a large country estate, and the government agent who had driven them there indicated that they should follow him inside. They walked through the main entrance, impressed by the Georgian architecture, and the lush green fields that were a marked improvement over the North African deserts.

Evans received a massive shock, one of many to come that day, when he discovered that Daisy was the one to sign them in when they walked inside. Not able to find the right words, he awkwardly avoided eye contact and pretended not to recognize her, and it seemed like she was doing the same. The sandy haired officer looked around the reception area, and saw several other young women hard at work. He recognized Lydia, looking very tired and slightly disheveled. Roger, you old devil, he thought to himself.

The agent led the four soldiers up the stairs and into a secluded conference room. Looking around the room, they saw a very odd assortment of guests. Evans recognized General Alan Brooke, the Army's Chief of Staff and one of Winston Churchill's primary advisors. Seated around him were the director of MI6, a middle aged professor like man who probably worked for MI6, Albus Dumbledore, another grey haired wizard around Dumbledore's age, and a stout broad shouldered wizard who the others addressed as "Minister."

General Brooke rose and spoke first. "Gentlemen, now that we've all arrived we can begin. I believe we have all read Lieutenant Evans' dispatch on the Egyptian mission. Prime Minister Churchill is very pleased with the success of this mission, and he believes we have discovered a successful operational model for fighting both Grindelwald and the Nazis. "

Stewart Menzies, the Director of MI6, spoke next. "With the combined resources of the military, intelligence, and magical communities he have the ability to create a new small but effective organization, one that it is off the records and outside the confines of government, an organization that does not officially exist."

Dumbledore elaborated further, "Our recent victory, though it may seem insignificant in some respects, has sent shock waves through the magical community. Many have been reluctant to oppose Grindelwald, fearing his power and wrath. Now that we have proven that Grindelwald's forces are not invincible, we will be able to recruit many more witches and wizards to our cause."

The professor like man spoke next, introducing himself as Alastair Thorndale. "This new organization will based right here at Bletchley Park, a place whose existence is known to very few. From here we will launch our new strategy. We will be carrying out precision covert strikes, attacking Grindelwald wherever he is vulnerable, never letting him rest. At the same time we will aid the allied war effort in any way we can, aiming to fracture the Grindelwald/Hitler alliance and make them both weaker."

General Brooke spoke up again, "Lieutenant Evans, because you and your squad have already had success in this type of mission, you will be given first choice for this assignment. Should you refuse the assignment, you will be returned to your unit with no questions asked."

Evans made eye contact with Bromhead, MacDonald, and Reynolds, who all seemed to be thinking the same thing. "Sir, I believe I speak for all of us when I say it would be an honor to accept this assignment."

"In that case we are adjourned," said General Brooke, "Mr. Thorndale and Mr. Doge here will brief you further on your new assignment."

As the large group of men filed out into the hall, Evans nearly bumped into Daisy, who he was still awkwardly trying to avoid.

Finally, she spoke, "So, you didn't tell me you were the famous John Evans."

Evans blushed, "I wasn't aware I was famous," he stammered nervously.

"Well you're famous around here at least, I read your dispatch from Egypt, that was some pretty amazing stuff," she said with a warm smile.

"Oh, that was nothing really," he said modestly. "Listen Daisy, I want to apologize for how everything ended up last night."

Daisy laughed, "John it's no problem, really."

"Are you sure, I mean I ruined your dress and everything," he insisted.

"John, I had a great time last night, and besides, I never liked that dress anyway," she assured him.

Evans was greatly relieved; feeling like a great weight had been lifted from his shoulders.

"Well I have to go transmit these messages, but I'll see you around," said Daisy, looking back and smiling as she walked away.

Evans and the others followed Thorndale and the wizard called Doge as they embarked on a tour of the facility. Evans felt a surge of excitement that he would soon be embarking on ground breaking missions, and also that he would apparently be spending a lot more time with a certain red head. He tried to make sense of it all, not sure which one he was more excited about.


	8. Chapter 8

Deep inside the Black Forest of Germany, the thick mass of trees masked the sunlight and made any approach on foot impassable. Towering mountains with their snow covered peaks filled the horizon, as the tranquil rivers and waterfalls flowed freely below. To the muggle world, this area was known for its breathtaking natural scenery, picturesque villages, and traditional exquisitely carved clocks. However, in the deep inner reaches of the forest, there were regions where none dared to venture, where dark, powerful magic was lurking.

It was here, safely tucked between two large mountains, that Grindelwald had constructed his large imposing fortress of Nurmengard. While he handled his administrative tasks from his Berlin offices, the real work was done here. It was here that he pushed the boundaries of magic and plotted the demise of his foes. Its location was protected with an unplottable charm, and only his innermost circle had the ability to find it.

Grindelwald prepared a large table in the central hall of the castle, awaiting the arrival of his closest followers. He was calling them here to regroup and reassure them. They had just suffered their first major setback of the war, and internal tensions were running high. At first Grindelwald had been furious when Meisterberger had failed to return from Egypt. Several top subordinates were dead, and his chance at constructing an unbeatable army was gone. He was not sure how this could have happened, and assumed that it had to have been some kind of grievous error on Meisterberger's part. However, the passage of time had allowed Grindelwald to put things in perspective. He was still the undisputed master of most of Europe, and he still had a very powerful army, not to mention the full resources of Nazi Germany, at his beck and call. And if that was not enough, he remained in possession of the undefeatable Elder Wand.

A mood of nervous anticipation filled the room as the wizards began to arrive. They feared Grindelwald's wrath, but their fears in this case were unfounded. Grindelwald had not called this meeting to express his anger; all those who had failed him on the previous mission was now dead anyway. He had called this meeting to rally his troops, restore their confidence, and inform them of their next major undertakings. The room had no windows to the outside, and the flickering of the torches on the wall provided the only light. The walls were adorned with bright orange banners, bearing both the Nazi swastika and Grindelwald's Deathly Hallows insignia, which he had also carved onto the ceiling of Durmstrang before the school expelled him all those years ago.

Hitler had demanded closer oversight of Grindelwald's activities after the unsuccessful Egyptian mission, and it was decided that General Heinrich Himmler, the head of Hitler's SS and by extension their magical archaeology division as well, would now be a direct observer on Grindelwald's staff. Grindelwald was far from pleased at Hitler's meddling, but he had worked with Himmler before and they were certainly compatible.

Grindelwald watched as the guests slowly filed in. Himmler had arrived early, trying to make a good impression, and was soon followed by numerous black robed wizards. There was Franz Dietrich, a fierce looking man with a face full of scars who in his school days was the most successful duelist in the history of Durmstrang, and whose reputation as a fighter had only grown since then. There was Yomuri Yomoto, a quiet but intensely cruel Japanese wizard who had mastered many obscure and deadly Eastern magical techniques that few had ever learned of. There was Hans Panzerlieder, a large brawny man who had spent his days before finding Grindelwald wandering the darkest reaches of the Black Forest and fighting the most powerful magical creatures he could find, just for the thrill of it. There was Landolfo Padovisi, the powerful patriarch of the largest magical crime family in Italy. There was also Sebastian Schwartz, a short round faced man who may not have been imposing to look at, but whose thorough knowledge of every possible type of spell and enchantment was unparalleled. Together with their several dozen colleagues who followed close behind, they were without a doubt the most feared collection of wizards in the world.

Grindelwald took his customary place at the head of the long table, with the torches behind him strategically placed so that he would cast the longest shadow possible. He opened the meeting in a calm, collected voice, not the angry tirade the wizards were expecting.

"I thank you all for your prompt arrival. As most of you know, we have recently suffered a setback."

There was a nervous murmur throughout the room at the mention of the unsuccessful mission. Grindelwald was not normally one to tolerate failure, and they were all in fear of the consequences. However, he continued to surprise them with his calm demeanor.

"I have not called you here to dwell on that unfortunate failure; those responsible are dead so the message would be lost on them anyway. I have summoned you to discuss the way forward. First of all, I would like to welcome the newest member of our staff, a man you are all familiar with, General Heinrich Himmler."

There was a smattering of applause as Himmler rose to say a few words, his beady eyes intently focused. "My friends, together we have achieved great things, and when the might of the German people is fully united with our magical brethren, the power of the Third Reich will last one thousand years! Heil Hitler!"

"Heil Hitler!" the wizards repeated in unison.

"Thank you General Himmler," continued Grindelwald, still seeing the immense benefits of that particular alliance. "And now we discuss our new direction. Dietrich, you have served me well, and you shall be rewarded. I am placing you in charge of the Western front; you will choose a few assistants and set up your headquarters in Paris."

A smattering of applause broke out as Franz Dietrich basked in the praise.

Grindelwald interjected, "Paris is beautiful this time of year Franz; it's a nice contrast to your hideous face."

The room erupted in laughter. Grindelwald had perfected this technique; build them up to maintain their confidence, but then cut them down to remind them who's in charge, while being humorous enough to keep things loose.

Grindelwald continued, "As for the rest of you, we are about to embark on a large and necessary task. I hope you've packed some winter clothes because we are going to Russia."

An excited chatter spread through the room in anticipation of the coming battle. When Hitler had recently proposed a massive invasion of the Soviet Union, Grindelwald was all too eager to offer his assistance. For him, this battle was personal. Many of Grindelwald's former professors and classmates at Durmstrang were now powerful, influential people both in the Soviet Union and throughout Eastern Europe. Now, he had his chance to send an emphatic message to the school that once expelled him.

With a quick swish of the Elder Wand, Grindelwald conjured an interactive map of Europe in the air, which is used to demonstrate the detailed complex movements of their invasion plans. When the meeting finally concluded after a few more speeches, the wizards went their separate ways to make their preparations, convinced that their actions, like all those they had taken so far, were for the greater good.

Dumbledore paused in the corridor to take in the surroundings. For the moment, he was back in the familiar halls of Hogwarts, a fact that gave him great comfort. He observed the commotion of the students hurrying to get to class on time, and occasionally being harassed by Peeves. More than anything, he wished he could be back in the classroom teaching, he much preferred the beautiful simplicity of the classroom to the harsh madness of the war. However, he reminded himself that the safety of these children would always be his most important priority, and that in this case, war was necessary to ensure that. Today, Albus Dumbledore was not here to teach; he was here to recruit.

Dumbledore's position was already much stronger than it was when he originally departed Hogwarts. Although Grindelwald was not any less powerful, nor did he control any less territory, Dumbledore's recent victory had sent a powerful message. As the tales of his deeds were whispered throughout the magical community, the word was finally beginning to spread that maybe Grindelwald was not invincible after all, and that maybe there was a hope of victory, even if it seemed only a faint hope.

The next step in Dumbledore's plan was to expand his coalition of witches and wizards opposed to Grindelwald, and he was starting the process right here with his colleagues on the Hogwarts faculty. He quickly ran some of the possibilities through his head. Headmaster Armando Dippett was very advanced in age and looking forward to his pending retirement, so it was highly unlikely he would be willing or able to take off on an adventure. The same also applied to Galatea Merrythought, the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor. Cuthbert Binns was already dead, so he was unlikely to be of much help. And then there was Horace Slughorn, who bumped into Dumbledore, interrupting his deep contemplation.

Slughorn looked up at Dumbledore, appearing very flustered, "Albus, where the bloody hell have you been?"

Dumbledore calmly smiled, "I've been busy, Horace."

Slughorn huffed, "Well while you've been gallivanting around the world, not only have I been covering your classes, but I've been facing some very real danger here!"

Dumbledore couldn't help but grin to himself, "I'm sure you have. Horace." he assured him.

"So you heard about the students getting petrified then?" Slughorn prodded.

Dumbledore paused; this was certainly grounds for concern, and it was certainly not what he was expecting to hear. "Go on."

"Some sort of creature is on the loose attacking students, one girl has already been killed, a Ravenclaw called Myrtle, if we don't catch it soon we might have to close the school!" Slughorn said excitedly.

Dumbledore paused to process this new information. This was a serious complication, and one that he had certainly not anticipated. It appeared he was now facing a battle on two fronts.

Once again, Bletchley Park was buzzing with activity. Evans and his squad had warmed up quickly to their new assignment, and the combined absence of North African heat and Captain Whittington ensured that their stay would be an enjoyable one. They had not seen much of Dumbledore lately, as he was constantly in and out, traveling between Hogwarts, Bletchley Park, and visiting various wizards throughout the country.

In their recent down time while they awaited a new mission, Evans had taken full advantage of his new clearance level to read all manner of documents that he would have otherwise never had access to. One day while perusing the archives he made a particularly interesting discovery.

"Look at this!" he exclaimed. "Remember in school when you learned about the Spanish Armada in 1588? And how they never made it to England because of the storms?"

"Yes," the others groaned. They usually cared very little for his educational observances.

"Well it says here, that the reason that happened is that Queen Elizabeth was in touch with the wizards and she convinced them to brew a huge storm in the English Channel!" said Evans, who was much more excited to learn this than they were.

"Well people did think she was a witch," Bromhead observed.

"That's so stupid, why do we even fight wars at all then, why don't we just say 'Oi wizards brew us a storm?'" added MacDonald.

They contemplated Macdonald's wisdom until Reynolds could no longer resist making an observation of his own. "It's funny that you mention Queen Elizabeth, I really think your girlfriend looks just like her," he pointed out, as Bromhead and MacDonald agreed with him.

Evans was slightly taken aback. He wasn't quite sure what was going on with Daisy exactly; they caught up and chatted when they could, but she always seemed to be extremely busy. In any case, he certainly would not refer to her as his "girlfriend" or anything like that.

Evans responded, "First of all she's not my girlfriend, and secondly they look absolutely nothing alike, you're only saying that because they're both gingers, and that's just daft."

"You're just waiting for it to rain so you can throw your coat over a mud puddle and let her walk on it," teased MacDonald.

Evans blushed, as Elphias Doge, who had been spending a lot of time at the estate lately, entered the room and interrupted them. "Gentlemen, I believe I may have a mission for you."

They listened intently as he explained further. "We have managed to make contact with the magical community in Greece. An old friend of mine in the Greek islands has secured a large amount of their country's magical artifacts and hidden them from Grindelwald's forces. This is a simple extraction mission; we go in there, grab the objects and get out."

"And then we display them all in the British Museum," Evans quipped. Nobody laughed; they never seemed to get his humor.

"So, do we have any volunteers?" Doge asked, as four hands shot eagerly into the air. "Excellent, we leave in a few days, I'll get you the details shortly," he explained as he walked towards the door.

"Wait, one quick question," Evans interjected. "Will we have to do any translating or anything? I haven't read Greek in quite some time and I'm very rusty."

Doge looked back and smiled, "Miss Johnson speaks and reads fluent Greek, and after much convincing to her superiors, she has been allowed to come with us."

Evans turned bright red as the others playfully needled him. Regardless of what happened on this mission, it was going to be eventful to say the least.


	9. Chapter 9

Evans looked around to gain his bearings as he tumbled out of the fireplace. He was in an unfamiliar room with a cold marble floor and medieval portraits adorning the wood paneled walls. Doge was standing around waiting patiently, and Daisy was standing nearby, looking very confused and uncertain. Evans' protective instincts were very alarmed at the prospect of Daisy coming along on a mission, but on the other hand the idea of going to Greece together was very romantic in a certain sense.

Next two loud voices emanated from the fireplace and spilled into the room, "Stop kicking my head you wanker!"

"Stop head butting my foot, you ponce!"

MacDonald and Reynolds had arrived, otherwise unscathed.

"Bloody hell, we can't take you two anywhere," grumbled Bromhead, the last of the group to arrive.

The Floo station was monitored by a young man in an ill-fitting Royal Navy uniform whose wand was protruding from his pocket. Doge informed the rest of the group that he was a newly qualified Auror on his first assignment, who hadn't quite mastered the art of disguise yet.

Evans looked out the window and saw a very scenic beach leading out to the pristine blue waters of the Mediterranean Sea. The busy harbor was packed full of transports and Royal Navy ships, and the plethora of destroyed buildings in the nearby town indicated recent airstrikes.

"We're at the British Admiralty Headquarters in Malta," Doge explained, "It's a vital link on our Floo network, Dumbledore passed through here on his way to Egypt. Now quickly, gather round, we have one more leg to go."

He did not have to tell them that Greece had been invaded by the Nazis and was now occupied territory.

"How are we getting to Greece again? Back through the fireplace?" Reynolds asked.

"Actually we're using Side-Along apparition, you will need to hold on to me and not think any distracting thoughts. It would help if you focus on this picture of where we're going," Doge explained, as he handed out copies of a moving black and white photograph of a much younger version of himself standing in front of Greek villa.

"You were quite the handsome devil back then," MacDonald teased.

Doge felt slightly embarrassed until Daisy chimed in with a pertinent question. "So how does Apparition work? Can you just go anywhere in the world?"

"Well not exactly, it only works within a certain distance, and you can only go places you're familiar with," Doge explained.

"Wait, I'm not sure if I'm comfortable with this, "Evans protested, "You just pop and disappear and then you reappear somewhere else? That just doesn't seem feasible."

"Oh, just close your eyes and think of England," Doge assured him.

Doge wrapped his arm around Evans and with a loud popping sound they both disappeared from the room. Evans felt the strangest sensation he had ever felt; it was as if his entire body was being squeezed through a turkey baster. As they reappeared with another loud pop, he fell to his knees, feeling extremely nauseous. While he slowly regained his composure, Doge kept disappearing and reappearing, bringing the rest of the group along one by one. Evans began to take in his surroundings; they were on the large balcony of an exquisite white stone estate with a blue painted roof. There was a view overlooking a picturesque bay with crystal clear waters. Standing in front of them to greet them was a witch wearing long, flowing white robes. She had an olive complexion and perfectly curled long dark hair. Though she was advanced in years, she retained strong remnants of what had been a legendary beauty in her youth.

Doge stepped forward, "I would like to introduce you to Athena Olympiakos, the greatest witch in Greece."

"Elphias, you're too kind," she said in response. Though she was meeting most of them for the first time, Athena greeted the group as if they were all old friends, "Welcome, my friends, to my humble abode. We have much to discuss, but first we must eat."

As they all got up to follow MacDonald whispered to Reynolds, "I like her better than the Egyptian bird already."

"You're bloody right about that mate; that one predicted our deaths, this one is giving us food," replied Reynolds.

The ever inquisitive MacDonald then asked Doge a question that was burning in his mind, "So Elphias, how come everywhere we go we end up meeting exotic older women who seem to remember you well?"

Doge shrugged, "Well, I traveled a lot when I was younger."

MacDonald persisted in a teasing tone, "I think there's definitely more to this story."

Reynolds joined in, "I can just picture it; Elphias Doge, the ultimate playboy of the 1890's."

The embarrassed Doge fumbled around for a response until finally Athena summoned them to sit down at a large table she had prepared on her patio. Two house elves arrived carrying a large roasted lamb as well as several side dishes including freshly grilled kebabs, spinach pastries, all kinds of cheeses and several bottles of Greek wine. They took their seats at the table, hungrily eying the sumptuous feast that had been prepared for them.

"Athena, please allow me to introduce my colleagues," said Doge.

Athena smiled, "There's no need Elphias, I've figured it out already."

Doge turned to the others, "Athena is a very skilled Legimens," he explained. They looked at him quizzically, so he clarified, "She can read minds."

Athena turned towards them with a grin and announced, "It's true, and to answer your questions; Nigel, the house is fully secure and you do not need to worry about posting a guard; John, yes, you can take the seat next to Daisy; Duncan, yes you can have seconds; and Will, I'm sorry I don't know what vegemite is and I don't think I have any."

Amazed at Athena's abilities, they pulled in their chairs and began to feast on the seemingly endless quantities of delicious food. They all thanks and complimented Athena profusely, but she demurred, claiming that any Greek woman, magical or not, could cook that well.

When they had finished several courses of dinner and were awaiting dessert, the conversation finally turned to work.

Athena explained to the group, "When the German forces were first preparing to invade; I scoured the country, gathering every magical artifact I could find so that they would not fall into enemy hands. If you're familiar with Greek mythology, you will know there are quite a large number of them. I have managed to secure them on top of a mountain on the next island over, with a few magical safeguards to protect them. Tomorrow morning I will take you there, and you will retrieve the artifacts and take them back to your country."

"You're not going to come back with us?" Evans asked.

Athena's warm expression became slightly more serious, "The Greeks are my people, whatever happens here, their fate will be my fate."

"And how are we getting all that treasure back to England?" inquired Bromhead.

Athena excitedly rose from her seat and beckoned the others to follow, "I have a special surprise for you all, I made it myself and I'm quite proud of it."

She led them to the edge of the balcony were they looked down to see a traditional Athenian galley tied to the dock.

"It has some strong magical enhancements, and I think you will find that it is much faster than regular ships," she explained. "I want you to take it home and keep it, consider it my contribution to the war effort."

They all stared in admiration at their new boat before returning to the table for dessert. As the sun disappeared over the horizon and cast a shimmering reflection on the water, the elves brought out a large assortment of freshly made Greek pastries. Athena went inside to clean up as they all ate much more than their fill. A few minutes later, Doge excused himself, claiming he wanted to help Athena with the dishes.

"I bet you do," said MacDonald, just barely loud enough to earn a swift elbow from Bromhead.

Bromhead then stood up, "I should get our equipment sorted, and I'm going to need two assistants."

"But we didn't bring any…" Reynolds began to protest before a sharp glance from Bromhead cut him off. Then they understood what Bromhead was doing; Lieutenant Evans needed all the help he could get.

Evans reclined in his seat, happily realizing that it was now just he and Daisy at the table.

Daisy smiled as they made eye contact, "It's always been a dream of mine to go to Greece. You know I almost won a trip here a couple years ago but it went horribly wrong."

"Oh no, what happened?" Evans asked sympathetically.

"When I was a student at Oxford the British Classical Society sponsored a contest for classical research with the prize being a trip to Greece. My paper was selected as the winner, but when I went to meet the committee they rescinded their decision," she explained.

"Why on earth would they do that?" asked Evans with a hint of outrage.

"Oh, I have no idea, maybe because I'm a woman," Daisy said sarcastically. A sudden gust of wind caused a bit of a chill in the air as Daisy crossed her arms.

"You must be cold," Evans said as he alertly jumped up and took off his Army field jacket.

"I'm alright John, really," she assured him.

"No, I insist," he said as draped the jacket over her shoulders.

She happily smiled to herself as he sat back down. "I'm just fascinated by all the history and culture here; the warriors and philosophers, the myths and the legends."

"And Lord Byron wrote some of his best poetry here," Evans added.

Daisy continued to be pleasantly surprised by him, "You like Lord Byron and Jane Austen? You really are quite the romantic."

Evans blushed, "At Cambridge I actually wrote my thesis paper on Lord Byron."

"You really do have some impressive accomplishments, even though Oxford is superior to Cambridge in every way," she joked.

Evans laughed, "Well I all know is that we beat Oxford in cricket every year that I played."

"So you were the star bowler, carrying your team to victory?" she teased him.

Evans looked down, "No, that was Roger's job. I was the dutiful wicket keeper."

Daisy laughed, "You and Roger do seem to work well together."

"That's how we first met in case you've forgotten," he playfully reminded her.

They both laughed as they recounted the disastrous events of that particular evening. They continued talking until deciding it was probably time to get some rest before the mission. Evans pushed Daisy's chair in for her as she got up from the table.

"Let me walk you to your room," he insisted.

"That's awfully kind of you," she happily obliged.

Athena had prepared a room for Daisy in the main house, while the men were going to be staying in the adjacent guest house. As they slowly strolled towards their house, Evans fumbled around with his hand at his side, seemingly grasping at the air, until Daisy grabbed hold of it and held on tight. He felt his heart rate spike and a cold sweat run down his brow as they approached the door.

Daisy paused in the doorway, and as they prepared to part, Evans found himself in the type of awkward standoff that he so greatly dreaded. His powerful mind that had solved so many academic and military problems was now at a total loss about what to do. Should he shake her hand? No, too formal. Take a bow and kiss her hand? Don't be stupid it isn't a Jane Austen ball. A voice in the back of his head seemed to be screaming, "Just kiss her already!"

He looked into Daisy's emerald eyes which were beautifully reflecting the moonlight and decided to swallow his fears. As they slowly moved closer together, he began to forget all about the war and everything else. In that moment, the girl in front of him was all that mattered. Daisy was fully cooperative, losing herself in his arms as she drew him nearer. Only a very short distance remained between them as their lips prepared to meet…

A loud crash oh pots and pans filled the air followed by an outburst in a familiar Scottish brogue, "That was my baklava! Stop taking my food fatty!"

"Oh go blow your bagpipes, you ginger bogan!" came an Australian voice in reply.

Evans bit his lip in frustration. As much as he liked MacDonald and Reynolds, one of these days he was going to kill them.

John and Daisy both awkwardly laughed and looked at the ground until she finally broke the silence. "Good night John," she said, quickly kissing his cheek before she retreated into the house.

A loud mechanical roar filled the air as thousands of engines started in unison. Grindelwald directed the driver of his staff car to assume a position at the center of the long line of tanks and armored trucks, the same position he had been in during the invasion of France. Across a long front of several thousand miles, the full might of the German army was on display as the massive invasion of Russia was now in full effect. The lines of troops stretched as far as the eye could see in every direction. Grindelwald's wizards were interspersed throughout the line, strategically placed where they could do the most damage.

Instead of his usual black robes, Grindelwald was wearing the German army uniform that he wore on campaigns. His fingers wrapped tightly around the Elder Wand as the long columns quickly and deliberately moved forward. Grindelwald lived for these moments; the thrill of battle, and the excitement of new conquests. He had dispatched emissaries to Romania to reach out to the vampires, and he was expecting to recruit all manner of magical creatures as they pressed deeper into Eastern Europe. However it was unlikely that they would need any more help. As it was, the well oiled German war machine seemed poised to run over all opposition, just as they had already done to so many other countries. With the convertible top to his car in the down position, Grindelwald took some time to soak up the sights and sounds all around him. He was at war, and he loved it.

After many miles of uneventful driving, the convoy slowly ground to a halt as artillery fire impacted all around them; it was the first opposition they had encountered. Slightly annoyed, Grindelwald stepped out of his car and found that the nearby German troops were engaged in a fierce skirmish with a group of Russian soldiers. Completely unfazed by the bullets whizzing past his head and explosions happening all around him, Grindelwald walked towards the front line. He carefully aimed the Elder Wand at a Russian tank and incanted, "Confringo!"

The curse was a direct hit on the tank, which exploded on impact. Not missing a step, he cast another curse, and another tank exploded. He took aim again; an armored troop carrier went up in flames. As the Russian vehicles began to fall back and change direction, Grindelwald noticed a large fuel truck in the middle of their formation. Sensing the opportunity he cast, "Incendio!"

A long streak of flames shot out of Grindelwald's wand and towards the fuel truck, which instantly ignited in a towering inferno. The surviving Russian soldiers frantically ran for cover as thick clouds of black smoke billowed into the air. Grindelwald dusted off his shoulders as the surrounding German soldiers cheered him on wildly. Muggles, he sneered to himself, so easy to impress.

The sun slowly rose above the horizon, and cast a blinding glare off the stone white buildings of the Greek islands. After tying up her enchanted galley at a dock and making sure her new friends were not seasick, Athena led the group to a narrow trail at the bottom of a moderately high mountain. Due to the covert nature of this mission, the soldiers had left their uniforms behind and were instead dressed like Greek farmers. Daisy wore a head scarf to ensure that her red hair would not instantly give them away as foreigners, and MacDonald wore a large wool cap for the same reason.

Slowly but steadily, they hiked upwards on the rocky trail. The higher they got, the air seemed much thinner to breathe, and the temperature slowly dropped. It was not an easy climb, but it was a manageable one, and they managed to scale the mountain without much difficulty. They stopped to eat their pre-packed lunch about halfway up the mountain, before continuing on to the top.

Finally, near the summit of the mountain, the path was blocked by an iron fence. Lurking behind the fence were several lion-like creatures whose tails were fully grown snakes and who had a second head resembling a goat.

"Chimeras! I've run into them before, nasty creatures," Doge informed the group.

There was a gate in the fence which led to a protected path between the chimeras' cages, and another gate that opened the cages. Athena explained, "The gates are enchanted, it's one of the safeguards I put in place."

When they all looked at her incredulously she answered in a defensive tone, "If I knew you were coming earlier I would have just left the artifacts at my house, but I thought I might have to hide them from Grindelwald indefinitely."

Doge sighed, "Well what's done is done, so how do we get past it?"

Athena produced a long roll of ancient looking parchment as she informed them, "Allow me to explain the enchantment I put on the gate. This scroll contains an excerpt from our national epic poem, the _Iliad. _It must be recited in its original Greek and the gate to the safe path will then open up. But if you make a mistake, the other gate opens and the beasts are set free. I'm particularly proud of this precaution; Germans don't have a good ear for Greek, and I wanted to ensure that only a true Greek could open it."

Doge looked at her like she was completely mental, "Well what are you waiting for then?"

Athena grew concerned, "The gate will not respond to my voice, that's another precaution I put in place in case I was captured."

Doge threw his hands in the air, "Looks like we're at an impasse then."

"We have rifles, let's just shoot the damn things," suggested Bromhead.

"But Nigel, you can't just shoot magical creatures," Doge hastily objected.

"I shot that magical scepter in Egypt and that worked out fine," Reynolds reminded them.

The group began to bicker as everybody tried to talk over one another until Evans finally lost patience and shouted for them to be silent.

As all eyes looked at him, he calmly stated, "Excuse me, have you forgotten that we have a renowned classical scholar in our midst?"

Daisy shied away in embarrassment, "But John, I don't know if…"

He cut her off with a stern look, "Daisy, this is your moment, I believe in you."

Daisy nervously stepped forward and opened the scroll as the others offered her encouragement. She had translated the _Iliad_ in its entirety while at Oxford, but she had never dreamed that her skills may one day be needed in a real life or death situation. The whole scenario was really quite absurd when she thought about it.

She approached the iron gate, which was humming with a dull buzz, as if there was a magical electrical field. She tried hard to focus, ignoring the growls of the chimeras who were anticipating a meal. With a deep breath, she began to recite the familiar verses in the fluent Greek that she had studied so long to attain. The others looked on in silence, and the tension was thick. Slowly and deliberately, Daisy recited each word. Her heart was racing as she struggled to block out all the distractions around her. Finally, the enchanted gate, satisfied with her knowledge of Greek, slowly creaked open. Daisy closed her eyes and exhaled deeply as the others gathered round and congratulated her.

They walked through the narrow path which soon led into a tiny cavern opening. They squeezed through the opening to find themselves in a very large cavern which was piled high with treasure. "I think you will all find this was worth the climb," said Athena.

They looked around the room, seeing many recognizable objects from Greek myths and legends. Among the tall mounds of treasure, there was the Golden Fleece, the shield of Perseus, the armor of Achilles, and countless other priceless and powerful artifacts. "These are going to look fantastic in the British Museum!" Evans quipped.

Daisy laughed, "Along with everything else from ancient civilization."

Doge distributed magical bags similar to the one Dumbledore had been using, and they hastily packed up as much treasure as they could carry, preparing for a very log boat ride.

Dumbledore slammed the door to his office, trying to make sense of everything that had just happened. The crisis at Hogwarts was seemingly resolved for the time being, but was it really? After a heated discussion among the faculty, the decision was made to expel Rubeus Hagrid, a third year Gryffindor. Tom Riddle, a Slytherin prefect, had brought forth incontrovertible evidence that Hagrid was raising an acromantula, which was a clear violation of school rules. Rightly or wrongly, this creature was blamed for the attacks, and Hagrid suffered the consequences.

Being the head of Gryffindor house, Dumbledore knew Hagrid well. He knew that he was a kind hearted young man who had no malice towards anybody. But he also knew that Hagrid's generosity was often extended to potentially dangerous magical creatures, and that he could sometimes seem oblivious to the hazards they posed to himself and others. Dumbledore strongly disagreed with the expulsion, but he was able to persuade Headmaster Dippet to allow Hagrid to remain at Hogwarts as a gamekeeper.

Since Hagrid's spider departed the grounds, the attacks on students had ceased, and those that had been petrified began to wake up. While the rest of the faculty accepted these events at face value, to Dumbledore something just didn't add up. It all just seemed too neat, too convenient. Plus, there was something about Tom Riddle that he just didn't trust, although he was also the only professor to see that. The potential injustices aside, what was most important now was that the school seemed to be safe again, and it was going to be allowed to remain open. With Hogwarts secure, Dumbledore was now free to resume his struggle against Grindelwald. As much as he wanted to stay behind and get to the bottom of this mystery, he eventually convinced himself that the dangers that Grindelwald posed were a more pressing priority. The students would always come first, but right now Grindelwald posed the greater threat to the students' safety.

He began to plan his next step, stretching his mind to think of wizards skillful, fit and trustworthy enough to recruit to his new task force. As he ran through his list of contacts, he was interrupted by a knock at the door.

"Come in please," he beckoned, adjusting his half moon glasses.

Into the office walked Minerva McGonagall, a seventh year Gryffindor prefect. She had a serious expression, and her dark hair was pulled back in a tight bun. "Professor Dumbledore, I have finished everything on the check list. All Gryffindor students are safely accounted for, and all their families have been notified that they are safe and the school will be remaining open."

"Thank you Minerva," he said, having a sudden realization. In her role as a prefect, Minerva had calmly and skillfully led Gryffindor through a very difficult time. She excelled academically, particularly in his own subject of Transfiguration, and she was now of age and would be leaving school soon.

"Minerva, forgive me for asking, but what are your plans for after you graduate?" he asked her.

"I recently accepted a position with the Ministry," she answered him.

Dumbledore grinned, getting the endearing and slightly mischievous twinkle in his eyes that would appear when he was up to something. "I might have to have a talk with your supervisors, there's a special assignment you might be interested in."


	10. Chapter 10

Daisy stared with trepidation at the large mountain of paperwork on her desk that had accumulated while she was gone. Much has changed in the war over the past few months. The German army had launched a massive invasion of the Soviet Union, opening up a new front. Also, Japan had attacked the American base at Pearl Harbor, bringing the United States into the war. Soon American troops would be arriving in Britain in large numbers. Daisy had begun to embark on the monumental tasks before her when Lydia provided her with a welcome distraction.

"So how did it go?" asked Lydia, as she eagerly leaned over the adjacent cubicle.

"Oh Lydia, it was amazing, there was breathtaking scenery, and we found all these artifacts I though only existed in myths…" Daisy said excitedly.

Lydia made a dismissive hand motion, "I know that Daisy, I read the reports, but how did it go with you and John?"

Daisy looked away with a slightly coy grin, "We had a nice time."

Lydia was persistent, "Daisy you're holding back on me, tell me everything, did you snog?"

Daisy blushed as she looked at the ground, "Well…sort of, errrr almost."

Lydia patted Daisy's shoulder as she took a sarcastic tone, "Well done Daisy, at this rate you too might get married before you're seventy."

Daisy shook her head, "Well we can't all be Lydia Baldwin, making puppy dog eyes at every bloke that moves."

Daisy leaned back seductively in her chair while she opened her eyes in an exaggerated manner. "Oh I'm Lydia, come save me I'm totally helpless."

Lydia bent over laughing, "Come off it Daisy, that is not what I look like at all." Lydia then laughed twice as hard when Daisy fell out of her chair in embarrassment when she noticed Albus Dumbledore entering the room.

"Good morning Dumbledore," said Daisy as she pulled herself up from the ground.

Dumbledore tipped his hat and nodded to them with his usual grin, "Good morning Daisy, Lydia."

It was then that Daisy noticed a serious looking girl a couple years younger than herself standing behind Dumbledore.

"How rude of me," Dumbledore realized, "I'd like to introduce you to Minerva McGonagall, she's going to be doing some work with us."

Daisy and Lydia warmly greeted Minerva before Dumbledore led her upstairs to the conference room. As they walked away, Daisy felt compelled to make an observation.

"I have to say, from what I've observed of the wizard world so far, as backwards as they are in certain areas like caring about your blood status or not using technology, they really have come a long way towards women's equality. I mean, look at Minerva, she's a little younger than us, right out of school, and she already has great responsibilities working alongside men. I really think our society could learn a lot from them."

Lydia applauded. "Ladies and gentlemen, Daisy Johnson, your next Prime Minister," she said approvingly.

Upstairs in the conference room, Evans folded up the morning newspaper after checking for updates on the war, the stock market, and most importantly, Everton Football Club. The empty room began to fill up as Bromhead walked in and claimed the adjacent seat.

"You won't believe who I ran into yesterday at the pub, Frank Bryce," Bromhead informed Evans.

"Old Frankie? What's he doing back here; I thought he was still in North Africa?" Evans asked inquisitively.

Bromhead explained, "Well the boys are starting to win some battles down there, but Frank got shot in the leg. They sent him home with a medical discharge, and you won't believe what he's doing now. He's working as a gardener at this old estate in Little Hangelton. "

Evans laughed heartily, trying to picture the gruff no-nonsense Sergeant Bryce working in a garden, and how much he must be grumbling about it. Dumbledore then walked into the room with McGonagall in tow, which turned a few heads.

"A five at best, and I'm being generous," MacDonald whispered to Reynolds.

Minerva scowled at him from across the room, as if she had heard every word of it. Finally, Elphias Doge and Alastair Thorndale entered the room and the meeting was ready to commence.

Thorndale adjusted his glasses as he rose to spoke, "Good morning, first of all I would like to congratulate all of you on the successful mission in Greece and on acquiring your new boat, which will I am sure will prove to be very useful. "

Doge spoke up to contribute, "Now that we will have access to most coastal regions there is a much wider range of missions we can accomplish within the occupied countries. The Ministry's Magical Intelligence Unit has been hard at work identifying potential sites of magical activity that may serve as targets, and I believe we have found our next mission."

Continuing their tag team approach to the meeting, Thorndale displayed a large black and white photograph at the head of the table, next to a detailed map. "This is the German naval base at Trondheim, Norway," he explained, "It's an important base for their submarines, and if the Ministry's information is correct it is also a base for Grindelwald's sea monsters, which have been devastating Allied shipping routes. This is a golden opportunity and, we will have a mission package prepared for you very soon. "

Doge continued, "As I'm sure you have heard, the German army had invaded the Soviet Union, and there have been high level of magical activities there as well."

Dumbledore spoke up, "If I know Grindelwald, he's going to be there. Eastern Europe is very important to him." Dumbledore paused; he was not yet prepared for a direct confrontation with Grindelwald, but perhaps right now he did not have to be. He concluded, "I believe our current strategy is sound. While Grindelwald is distracted in the East, we focus our energies on the Western Front, striking where his forces are vulnerable and never letting them rest."

Dumbledore looked around the room, confident in the courage and abilities of the team he had assembled. With a sly grin he announced, "It's time to set Europe ablaze."

Several hours before sunrise, MacDonald and Reynolds carefully snuck their way around the winding country road as they led their new companion, a cow they had requisitioned from a local farmer. It was long and frustrating progress as the cow was very reluctant to walk long distances. As the cow stopped walking, MacDonald threw his hands up in frustration, "What's going on? Why is it stopping?"

Reynolds laughed, "Well cows only do two things, eat and poo, and I'll give you a hint, it's not eating now."

MacDonald scowled, "That's disgusting! I knew this was a bad idea all along!"

"It was your idea you idiot!" Reynolds reminded him.

Eventually the cow finished its business and they were able to gently coax it to continue walking down the road. Amidst their bickering, there was one major issue MacDonald and Reynolds agreed on; that things had gotten too serious at Bletchley Park, and it was time for a major prank to shake things up. A cow on the roof might just be the perfect thing to do it.

Minerva arrived at the estate around sunrise, well before she was required to be there, but wanting to make a good first impression at her new job. She was not fully sure what she had gotten herself into, but what she did know was that she trusted Dumbledore and that opposing Grindelwald and his allies was the right thing to do. As she strolled through the grounds, she was alarmed to see something seemingly very much out of place. Although she was not fully versed in every Muggle custom, her intuition led her to believe that a cow being raised on a makeshift pulley was not supposed to happen.

Minerva paused; on the one hand, she was the youngest and newest member of the organization, and she did not want to make any waves. On the other hand, her role as a Gryffindor prefect had prepared her well for this type of situation. She had encountered all manner of dangerous pranks by young students, many not too different from this one. She had quashed many pranks and earned a reputation as a disciplinarian, but at the same time, she was always considered fair. As she debated the question in her mind, her instincts told her that she had to act.

Minerva walked up to the two young soldiers attempting to raise a cow on a pulley and demanded an explanation, "What is going on here?"

MacDonald looked at her, shocked and dismayed that they had been discovered. "We're just having a laugh, just because you have a permanent scowl doesn't mean we all have to," he said in an annoyed tone.

Minerva was slightly taken aback, "So stealing somebody's property and putting an animal in danger is having a laugh?"

MacDonald rolled his eyes at her, "Just sod off and leave us alone."

Minerva was flustered and momentarily forgot her surroundings, "Fifty points from Gryffindor," she huffed, before realizing her error.

MacDonald looked at her incredulously, "What the hell is a Gryffindor? Why don't you just stay in your magical wizard world and let us stay in ours?"

Minerva rolled her eyes, "Fine, but excuse me for expecting British soldiers to be professional."

MacDonald threw his arms up in disgust, "And that is why we don't allow women in the army, they meddle in everything!"

Deeply hurt, Minerva reached for her wand, "Wingardium Leviosa!"

The very surprised MacDonald began to rise up and levitate in the air, protesting loudly, "What is this? Put me down!"

Reynolds rolled on the ground laughing hysterically at his friend's predicament. Minerva left Macdonald suspended in mid air until Dumbledore arrived on the scene and gave Minerva the type of stern reproaching look that only a seasoned educator can give, letting her know that he expected better. Regaining her senses, Minerva turned away as Macdonald hit the ground with a thud. She stormed off, greatly disappointed in herself for letting things escalate.

In a magically hidden office high above Moscow's Red Square, Vladimir Komissarov assessed the situation. His job as Russia's Minister of Magic was never going to be an easy one, and the current situation had not made it any easier. Throughout his time in office, Komissarov had maintained a tense but cordial relationship with Soviet dictator Josef Stalin. When the war broke out, they both agreed that it was wise to not oppose the Hitler/ Grindelwald alliance. But now, with the German army suddenly invading Russia, the situation had changed drastically. The Muggle nation was now at war, and many wizards were joining the conflict as well. However, Komissarov still insisted on maintaining a policy of official neutrality for the Ministry. The way he saw things, Grindelwald may not be that bad after all. So what if he wanted to oppress Muggles and the Muggle born? Were Komissarov's views really any different? He was certain that by remaining aloof from the conflict, a reasonable arrangement could be reached if and when Grindelwald finally came marching into Moscow.

Komissarov looked down at the meetings he had scheduled. Next on the list was Andrei Krum, the exiled Minister of Magic from Bulgaria, who was no doubt coming there to propose some sort of foolish alliance. Eager to get the meeting over with, Komissarov motioned to his secretary to escort the waiting Krum into his office.

Komissarov stood to offer a greeting as Krum walked inside, appearing very worn and ragged. He was one of the youngest Ministers of Magic in Europe, but he looked like the stress of the war had caused him to age at an unnatural rate. "Andrei, come in take a seat," Komissarov urged him.

Krum sat down and took off his fur hat. "I'm guessing you know why I'm here Vladimir. Grindelwald's forces have overrun and occupied my country. The rest of Eastern Europe is quickly going the same way. The Russians are our last hope, please we must work together."

Komissarov leaned back and stroked his beard, betraying no emotions. He certainly admired Krum's courage, being so willing to stand up to Grindelwald. But what good was courage if it got you killed? From Komissarov's vantage point, if accommodating Grindelwald meant staying alive, it was a trade he was willing to make. But right now, Krum was still sitting in front of him, expecting an answer. "I will look into it," Komissarov assured him. They both knew he meant the exact opposite, but diplomatic niceties had to be observed.

Sensing that Komissarov would not be moved from his position and seeing no point in continuing the discussion, Krum put his hat back on and rose to leave. "Thank you for your hospitality Vladimir, I hope one day we may see eye to eye," he said as he walked out the door. Krum walked outside to redraw his plans, knowing that he was going to have to do it on his own.

After having a very hearty laugh at MacDonald's misfortunes that morning, Evans began his daily routine of reading every major news source's coverage of the war. Part of this news roundup always included the casualty reports, which he always read with great apprehension, fearing he would find a familiar name among the ranks of the killed and wounded.

On this particular day he was hit with a massive shock as he double and triple checked the report to make sure he had read it correctly. Roger Cranford was missing in action; his plane had been shot down on a mission somewhere over Europe. Evans managed to keep a brave and stoic face throughout the morning meetings, but as soon as he had a free moment, he ran outside to be alone, feeling as if the world was crashing down on him.

As he sat on a grassy knoll, throwing rocks into the distance, Daisy ran outside and sat beside him. She wasn't quite sure what to say, but he was greatly comforted by her presence nonetheless. Greatly shaken, Evans opened up to her, "We were just school boys when we signed up. We knew it was a war, we knew people get killed and wounded, but we never thought it could happen to us. We thought it was going to be this grand adventure that you come home and tell tales about. You never think that you might be the one to end up in an unmarked grave in some foreign land."

Daisy softly grabbed hold of his arm as she patiently and empathetically listened. Finally, she withdrew a stack of papers and spoke up, "John, I knew how hard this would be for you, so I used my clearance level, which is very high you know, and I was able to find this report, I think you might want to read it."

Evans nervously took the papers in his hands as he read from the top, "_After Action Report of Wing Commander Ethan Poole, Royal Air Force_…"

He hastily skipped downwards until he found the relevant portion, "_At 1335 Charlie Six, piloted by Flight Lieutenant Roger Cranford lost to enemy fire. One parachute spotted_…"

An enormous wave of relief rushed over Evans as he pieced the situation together. "They spotted a parachute, he must be alive! And if he wasn't on the POW list that means they haven't captured him either," he happily proclaimed.

Daisy squeezed his hand tightly as she told him, "Always remember John, that whatever happens in this war we must never give up hope."

Evans was overcome my more emotions than he could handle. The relief that his best friend was likely still alive, the large new perspective he had gained on everything, but most of all, the undeniable affection he felt towards Daisy. Sensing that this was as good a moment as there would ever be, he leaned towards her with a sense of determination. This was not going to be a reprise of that night in Greece. This time there was no way MacDonald, Reynolds, German bombers, Hitler himself, or any combination thereof were going to come between them. In that moment on the grassy knoll, two normally shy and reserved people overcame a lifetime's worth of apprehensions as they shared a passionate kiss, not caring at all who happened to see them.


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

As nighttime fell over the vast forest, Roger Cranford arose from the thicket of bushes he had been hiding in, deciding that it was now dark enough to attempt to move again. He couldn't remember much about his plane being shot down, just that his training has prepared him well enough to know how to bail out of the cockpit and activate his parachute. He had landed in a thick wilderness somewhere in the French/German border region, not far from the smoldering wreckage of his plane. Since then he had spent his days sleeping under the protective coverings of the dense plants, and his nights searching for food, and trekking as he used the stars to navigate. Being a in a rural region, he had been lucky enough to come across enough local farms, we he could swipe just enough vegetables to sustain him, but not enough to be noticed.

He wasn't exactly sure where he was, but he figured that if he kept heading west he might eventually reach neutral Spain. He was sure that his polished good looks weren't holding up too well after living off the land and being encased in dirt, but that was obviously the least of his worries at the moment. His main concern was to make progress on his journey and survive another night of evading capture.

As Roger stealthily crawled through the brush, he flattened himself to the ground at the sound of approaching voices. Any Germans in the area would have surely found the wreckage of his plane and would inevitably be looking to capture any surviving pilots. Finally, he allowed himself to sneak a glance at the group of people walking by his position. As he feared, it was a group of men carrying rifles. However, they were all wearing civilian clothes, not the German uniforms he expected, and he could clearly overhear them speaking French. Roger surmised that they were probably French resistance fighters, which would represent his best chance at escaping.

Roger stepped out and revealed himself, raising his arms in the air, as the startled men turned towards him. "Resistance?" he calmly asked them.

"Oui, come with us" their leader answered, motioning for Roger to follow them.

In a close formation, they swiftly made their way through the nearby village until they arrived at a local tavern. The leader of the group, whose name seemed to be Pierre, led them downstairs into a wine cellar, where he pushed aside a large shelf of wine to reveal a hidden entrance. They squeezed their way through the small hidden door and entered a room that was packed completely full with weapons, explosives, communications equipment, and all manner of disguises.

"We have found another one Madame," said Pierre, as Roger soon found himself face to face with the largest woman he had ever seen. She towered over him in height, but had a warm and welcoming expression that made him feel safe.

"Bonjour, my name is Maxime," she greeted him, as Roger shook her hand. "Come with me, we are going somewhere secure."

A cold salty spray filled the air as the enchanted galley sped its way through the frigid waters of the North Sea. Nigel Bromhead steered the boat towards the Norwegian shoreline, feeling a bit queasy as the boat lurched back and forth in the rough waves. As another cold splash of water hit his face, he grumbled to himself that this is why he joined the Army instead of the Navy in the first place.

Dumbledore had decided that it would be wise for at least part of the team to remain on call at Bletchley Park, so Bromhead had been dispatched with only MacDonald and McGonagall to accompany him on this mission. He had previously been convinced that MacDonald and Reynolds were the worst possible pair of people to bring on a mission together, but after enduring a long and arduous boat ride with the two young Scots bickering at each other non-stop, he was convinced otherwise. They had been at each other's throats for hours until they finally felt too seasick to continue. For Bromhead, the sickness was a small price to pay for peace and quiet.

A small sliver of the moon provided the only light on the dark night as the boat beached itself on the shoreline. They left the boat behind and quickly took up positions overlooking the German naval base, trudging through the freshly fallen snow that always seemed to blanket Norway.

After a quick reconnaissance, they concluded that their intelligence assessment had been accurate. There was on submarine moored to the dock, another one receiving repairs in a dry dock, and large sea monster inside a watery pen. Minerva assessed the task, "Just as we discussed, leave the sea monster to me, and everything should go smoothly, provided you can trust Ginger Ponce here to handle explosives."

"That's _Corporal_ Ginger Ponce to you," MacDonald sneered.

"I did not sign up for this," Bromhead grumbled to himself.

As Minerva pulled her wand out of her bag and prepared for the mission, she felt a sudden cold, wet impact as a snowball hit the side of her face. She turned to see MacDonald chuckling to himself. Greatly incensed, she made a snowball of her own and threw it back at him, hitting him square in the face. MacDonald quickly reached for another, and scored another direct hit. This one felt a little bit harder, obviously containing ice, a dangerous escalation. Escalating things further, Minerva incanted, "Glacium Pugnatius!" In response to her spell, a large pile of snow came to life as a snowman, which began to violently pummel MacDonald into submission.

Finally, Bromhead bellowed, "That's enough, both of you!" As they calmed down and looked towards him, he continued his tirade, "In case you forgot, we are on an enemy base in occupied territory, and we have a mission to complete! We can ill afford your juvenile antics!"

Bromhead's rant was enough to put things back in perspective as MacDonald and McGonagall both looked down in embarrassment. "Now shake hands," Bromhead added for good measure.

MacDonald and McGonagall gingerly shook hands, awkwardly avoiding making eye contact. The three then split up and made their way towards the port, sticking to the plan they had drawn up. They had beached the galley within the gated confines of the naval base, so the first obstacle was already cleared. Under the cover of the dark night, they stealthily approached the submarine pens. There were not very many sentries posted, and the ones that were on duty seemed very tired an un-alert. Their complacence was about to be their downfall.

Minerva crouched behind a building for cover as she carefully observed a German guard casually pacing back and forth, his rifle slung low over his shoulder. She carefully aimed her wand and whispered, "Stupefy," as the guard dropped to the ground unconscious. She quickly ran to her next covered position, looking behind her to see Bromhead climbing through the hatch of the submarine that was docked in port, and MacDonald sneaking underneath the other submarine in the drydock, both of them carrying large bags of explosives.

Minerva dodged between buildings, stunning two more guards in the process, before arriving at her target. She walked up to the docks, coming face to face with an enormous sea serpent, which very much resembled the Loch Ness Monster that she dreamed of encountering in her youth. The creature appeared to be sleeping, but it began to stir as she nervously approached it. She had always excelled academically and passed all her NEWTS with flying colors, but nothing she had learned in school had prepared her for this.

As she closed within range to launch her spells, Minerva felt her feet fly out from under her as she slipped on a patch of ice. Her desperate attempts to regain her balance were to no avail, and with a sudden splash she plunged into the icy cold water. The creature let out a loud roar as it stirred to life, aroused from its slumber by the sudden disturbance. The creature thrashed about wildly, swinging its head in Minerva's direction as she treaded water and flailed her arms about, hoping to find something to grab onto. Finally, her left hand caught hold of a rope that was secured to the dock and she was able to stabilize herself. The creature bared its teeth as it stretched its neck back, preparing to strike. With no time to lose, Minerva aimed her wand at its center mass and confidently cast, "Piscifors!"

After suffering a direct hit, the creature reeled backwards, rapidly shrinking until it was at last transformed into a harmless goldfish. Minerva pulled herself out of the water and scooped the fish up into a glass jar, which she securely screwed shut. She then began to quickly run towards the designated rendezvous point.

Awoken by the stirrings of the sea monster, an alert guard had sounded the alarm, and its high pitched wails echoed through the base as the flashing of red lights illuminated the dark night. Minerva encountered Bromhead and MacDonald sprinting towards the beach as the three of them made their way towards the galley. Minerva reached back to cast shield charms as they ran at full speed, half a step ahead of the bullets that were beginning to be fired in their direction by the now fully awake guard force.

Finally, they dove into the galley, which aided by the magical enhancements Athena had installed, was able to launch itself at full speed nearly instantaneously after they were onboard. As they sped away on the cold, dark sea, they looked back to see a massive series of explosions lighting up the sky. The mission had been a success.

It was a time of great change in England when thousands upon thousands of American soldiers began to arrive on their shores, turning much of the countryside into an armed camp. Although the Americans had sat out the first two years of the war, the transatlantic alliance was now in full force. At Bletchley Park, there were new additions as well. Several Americans had joined the ranks of the intelligence community, and a few had even been transferred to Dumbledore's organization.

On the wizard side, there was Benjamin Jefferson Hamilton, a well respected professor at the Salem Witches Institute. He was around Dumbledore's age and had a very similar look, although instead of Dumbledore's flowing blue robes and half-moon glasses, he was much more comfortable in a leather jacket and a cowboy hat. He had a humble, folksy manner, and he implored everybody he met to, "Just call me Benny."

On the Muggle side, Joe Spinelli, an officer in the Office of Strategic Services (OSS), America's newly formed intelligence agency, was going to be joining the squad. He had risen from his humble origins in South Philadelphia to earn admittance to Princeton. When the war broke out, he joined the Army as a paratrooper, but was then quickly recruited for the OSS.

Somewhat to the chagrin of Daisy and Lydia, there were American women serving in administrative roles as well, one of whom had been placed in their department. They shared a disproving glance as they heard the unmistakable sound of the clicking of high heels on the ground that signaled the approach of their new colleague, Jane Fairfield.

Jane's blonde hair was even more fashionably done than Lydia's, and she wore a designer ensemble that probably cost more than Daisy or Lydia made in a year. "This estate is so quant that it's charming," Jane announced rather loudly, "But how do I get to London, I'm going to need some quality shopping soon."

"You take the train, there's a station right down the road," Lydia informed her curtly.

"Ugh, train rides are so dreadful," scoffed Jane, "I'm sorry, when I'm at my Manhattan penthouse everything is nearby and I have my own driver, this is going to take some getting used to."

Daisy and Lydia rolled their eyes, disgusted at her pretentiousness. Jane then pulled up a chair to sit near Daisy and Lydia and engage them in a friendly manner, which seemed to make them dislike her even more.

"So girls, you have to tell me; how do you manage to concentrate when you're surrounded by eligible British gents all day? Like that Lieutenant Evans, can you say _fit_?" Jane prodded them.

Luckily for Jane she was not making eye contact at the time, because the glare that Daisy shot her may have killed her. Lydia decided to resolve the situation.

"Jane, I need you to route these right now," she said as she handed her a large stack of papers. Jane walked away in a huff, the sound of her heels loudly echoing.

Soon after Jane departed, Joe Spinelli arrived near their desks, impeccably dressed in a three piece suit, and charming everybody with his smile.

"F-I-T," Lydia mouthed to Daisy, who shook her head and laughed.

"So I see you ladies met Jane, lovely person isn't she?" Joe greeted them.

"Well that's one way to put it," said Lydia.

Daisy felt the need to pry, "So Joe, can you tell us how Jane got this assignment in the first place?"

Joe gave her an understanding look, "Well Jane's father is a very influential businessman, and he raised a lot of money for President Roosevelt during the last election."

"That explains everything," Daisy cut him off.

"Joe, you must not know your way around yet, let me show you where everything is," said Lydia as she eagerly got up.

"Wow, everything they said about English hospitality is true," said Joe as her followed her.

Daisy returned to her paperwork, wondering just how much these new arrivals were going to shake things up.

As the winter set in over Leningrad, the city had descended into a cesspool of death and destruction. It had once been known as St. Petersburg, one of the most beautiful cities in Europe, and the seat of the Russian Czars and some of the world's greatest art collections. But now, the war had reduced it to a lethal labyrinth of rubble. The German army, which had moved so rapidly through Russia, had now stalled in a brutal siege of the city, while the Russians inside the city fought dearly for survival.

Andrei Krum snuck through the deadly muddle, knowing that he would probably only get one shot at what he was about to do. He briefly thought about his wife and young children, safely hidden away in Bulgaria. He had felt the temptation to remain in hiding with them and wait out the rest of the war, but he had ultimately convinced himself that the best thing he could do for his children was help make a better world for them to live in.

Finally, he found what he had been looking for; a command car with a small flag on the antennae emblazoned with the Deathly Hallows insignia on one side and the Nazi swastika on the other. Krum silently approached the car, knowing that this would be the best chance he would ever get.

Grindelwald laughed as Landolfo Padovisi shivered in the back seat of the car. "Remind me why we came to Russia in the winter again?" asked the crime lord.

"Ha, you're not in Sicily anymore," Grindelwald reminded him, "Well maybe if you were competent the city would have been secured already. Anyway, I want you to search all the old czar's palaces for artifacts first thing tomorrow…"

As Grindelwald was speaking, a streak of green light shot through the car, shattering the windshield and killing the squib that served as his driver. Landalfo started to get up before Grindelwald stopped him, "I'll handle this."

Grindelwald stepped out of the car and cast a shield charm, which deflected a second incoming killing curse. He looked around and soon spotted his assailant.

"Andrei Krum, you've come all the way from Bulgaria just to try to kill me; I'm almost flattered," Grindelwald said mockingly.

Krum nervously backed up as he cast every charm he could think of, "Expelliarmus! Stupefy! Crucio!"

Grindelwald easily deflected each curse as he calmly walked towards his opponent. "You're brave Krum, I'll give you that," said Grindelwald as he leveled the Elder Wand in Krum's direction.

Krum backed up until he could go no further, and then seemed to accept his fate as he lost his footing.

Grindelwald sneered at him, "But you were very foolish to come here and now you must suffer the consequences… Avada Kedavra!"

Elphias Doge clutched tightly to his broom as he sailed through the air at a high velocity. Benny Hamilton followed closely behind him, his cowboy hat somehow managing to stay on despite the heavy winds. They skillfully maneuvered to maximize their airspeed as they passed over the English Channel en route to their mission.

"So how are things at Salem now anyway?" Doge called back to Benny, struggling to make himself heard over the wind.

"As exciting as it's ever been!" Benny answered him, "The students are really jealous I got to come over here, they're pretty enthusiastic about the war."

"By any chance, is Elizabeth Putnam still teaching there?" Doge prodded.

Benny had a good chuckle, "Yes she is, and she's mad as Hades that you haven't been writing to her."

Doge sighed to himself, wondering why all the foreign women from his youth seemed to be resurfacing now.

They made landfall as they closed in on their objective, the village of Ste. Jean Charlemagne. It was a quaint wizarding community in Northern France that had once been one of the most picturesque holiday destinations for wizards throughout Europe. However, now that France was occupied, it served a completely different purpose. Its shops had been converted to magical factories, producing weapons and equipment for Grindelwald's army.

Finally spotting the town from high above, they pointed their brooms downwards and took as steep dive, stopping to hover just above the tree line.

"Remember, just like we discussed," Doge called out.

Benny nodded as he opened a bag which contained a large quantity of highly explosive erumpent horns. He then launched the bag in the air, sending the horns flying. As they were suspended in midair, Doge and Benny carefully aimed their wands and exclaimed, "Subventum Fragormento!"

Guided by the charm, the erumpent horns carefully aimed themselves into the stores and shops below. A massive ripple of explosions went off in quick succession as much of the town went up in flames. To the delight of Doge and Benny, a massive statue of Grindelwald that had dominated the town square came toppling over.

Satisfied with the destruction they had wrought and the much needed supplies they had deprived Grindelwald of, Doge and Benny turned their brooms away, making a clean escape before anybody below had a chance to react.

"…And that is why baseball is the best sport in the world," said Spinelli with his trademark smile as he and Evans waited outside on the lawn of Bletchley Park.

Evans had been convinced by Spinelli's eloquent speech that baseball certainly had some strong merits, but he still had some objections to raise, "I'll concede your points, but you have to tell me; why do you yanks insist on calling it the World Series when no other countries play?"

Spinelli laughed, "I knew that question was coming, well it's not like I'd know anything about the World Series anyway, I'm a Philadelphia Phillies fan, and they haven't made it that far in my lifetime. It's pretty frustrating, I wish I could stop following them, but they just keep dragging you in."

"Well I'm an Everton supporter, that can't be much better," Evans empathized.

Finally, Dumbledore arrived on the lawn, bearing a large silver plate.

"Dumbledore, did you just win Wimbledon?" asked Evans

Dumbledore grinned, "No I'm afraid tennis has not quite caught on in the wizarding community. Actually this is a port-key; it's a mode of transportation."

"How many modes of transportation do you have?" asked the very incredulous Evans.

"You have seen the major ones by now, "Dumbledore explained, "It's a simple concept; it links two places together, and touching it will transport you to the other place. This particular port-key will bring us to a magical academy in Southern France. An acquaintance of mine there has been sheltering people on the run from Grindelwald, and we are going to evacuate them out of the country."

"Benny explained it all to me on the journey across the pond, it's all really fascinating," Spinelli added.

Dumbledore explained further as Evans eyed the plate apprehensively, "This is a simple evacuation mission, I do not foresee any complications, but we must remain vigilant all the same."

Finally ready to take the plunge, Evans and Spinelli grabbed a hold of the plate along with Dumbledore. They felt a sudden force pulling them against their will as they rapidly spun around in a vortex. Finally, they landed on their feet in an unfamiliar field as a very tall woman was there to greet them.

"Maxime, it's a pleasure as always," Dumbledore greeted her.

"Thank you for coming so quickly, Albus" said Maxime, "Follow me, we must be quick."

They followed Maxime through the perfectly manicured grounds exquisite gardens into a large yellow palace built into a hillside that was known as Beauxbatons Academy. As they walked, Maxime explained to them that Beauxbatons had remained open during Grindelwald's occupation of magical France, but that Muggle-born students were not permitted to remain. Ministry officials, who were now controlled by Grindelwald, visited the school from time to time, but they were usually very easily duped. Under the Ministry's nose, Maxime had become a leader of the resistance movement in France, and was running a major smuggling operation to hide and protect people, wizards and Muggles alike, who were being pursued by Grindelwald or the Nazis.

They walked through several long corridors filled with colorful medieval tapestries and ornate low hanging chandeliers. When they had descend several flights of stairs and walked down a little used corridor near the dungeons, Maxime pressed one of the bricks in the wall, and a secret door slowly swung open. They walked through the door into a large, open room that was filled with tents and cots, housing all manner of people, both wizards and Muggles, military and civilian. The one thing they had in common was that they were all on the run.

Evans followed behind Maxime and Dumbledore and he soon recognized a familiar face.

"Roger, what the hell are you doing here?" he exclaimed.

"I should be asking you the same thing," said Roger as he excitedly greeted his friend. "Seriously John, you would not believe some of the things I've seen."

"Actually, I probably would," Evans responded.

Dumbledore mumbled softly to Maxime, "Were you able to obtain the information I requested?"

Maxime grinned, "Yes I was," as she covertly handed Dumbledore a large envelope.

Dumbledore then walked to the center of the room and announced in a commanding voice, "Greetings friends, I am Albus Dumbledore and I have come to bring you safely out of the country. Please take only what you need and grab hold of this port-key." The crowd of people quickly got up and gathered around Dumbledore as he held out the silver plate.

"What is all this about?" asked Roger.

"I'll explain it all later, just listen to him, mate," Evans assured him.

A few moments later, the large group of around thirty people were yanked through the vortex in unison as they reappeared where they had began their journey, on the grounds of Bletchley Park. Spinelli formed the group into an organized line as Dumbledore quickly arranged to send them to safe places with slightly altered memories. Evans pulled Roger aside as he succinctly explained as much as he could about how he had encountered Dumbledore and the formation of the new organization.

"That's incredible John, I never would have believed it!" Roger explained.

"Oh and I forgot to mention, do you remember Daisy and Lydia? They work here too," Evans added.

"Now that's just ridiculous," said Roger, overwhelmed by the amount of coincidences that had brought them there.

"Yes it certainly is," said Evans with a grin.

"What's that grin for? Don't tell me you and Daisy are seeing each other or something," Roger prodded.

Evans grinned widely, brimming with confidence, "Actually we are. It's really great, she's fantastic."

"Awwww, little Johnny's growing up, I'm so proud of you," said Roger as he playfully tussled his hair.

Suddenly Evans had an idea, "You know we could probably use a pilot here?"

Roger paused, "That is very tempting, but my squadron is going to be expecting me to return."

"Your squadron still thinks you're MIA," Evans reminded him, "At least just have a look around."

Roger agreed to follow John on a quick tour of the estate, and as they walked through the main entrance, they were met by a very surprised and excited Lydia, who practically assaulted Roger in a very public display of affection, which he did not seem to mind at all.

"As you can see, this is the entrance to the estate…" Evans said as his words fell on deaf ears, "Oh well, never mind, finish snogging, I'll be outside."

Evans laughed and shook his head as he exchanged a knowing glance with Daisy.

Meanwhile, once the last of the refugees had been taken care of, Dumbledore found a quiet place underneath a tree to sit down as he meticulously examined the photographs and documents contained in the envelope Madame Maxime had given him. As he pored them over two or three times each, an excited gleam was in his eyes as he realized that the tide of the war was about to change.


	12. Chapter 12

Dressed in a Muggle suit, Dumbledore strolled towards the heavily guarded military headquarters building in London. As he made his way inside and past several security check points, he recognized General Alan Brooke arriving at the same time. At Brooke's side was another mustachioed General in a finely pressed uniform and crisp beret who seemed to have an aristocratic air of superiority even stronger than Brooke's.

"Mr. Dumbledore," General Brooke greeted him in his typical stiff manner, "I'd like you to meet General Bernard Montgomery."

"So this is Albus Dumbledore, I've heard so much about you," said Montgomery as he offered his hand.

"You reputation precedes you as well, General," responded Dumbledore as he shook his hand.

The three of them walked down the corridor into the conference room as several American officer walked past them.

"Yanks, what a bloody awful lot," Brooke mumbled just a little too loud.

They took their seats at the table surrounded by large maps and overworked staffers, as General Dwight Eisenhower, the American who was now overall Allied commander, sat at the head. He was a soft spoken Midwesterner with the type of disposition that would normally be associated with one's grandfather. He was of average build, and his forehead was made more prominent by his rapidly receding hairline.

Eisenhower called the meeting to order, "Gentleman, your hard work is about to pay off. For far too long, the people of Europe have lived under oppression. They have patiently waited while we have planned the invasion of France. But now, the hour of liberation has come. We will be landing at Normandy on June 6."

A wave of excitement came over the room. They had been planning for this day a long time, but now the realization was hitting them that it was actually going to happen. Montgomery rose to give a detailed brief on which military units would be involved in the operation, and then an RAF General gave a brief about air support.

Finally, Eisenhower called on Dumbledore to speak. Dumbledore distributed black and white copies of the photographs he had obtained from Maxime as he began his brief, "As most of you are aware the Nazi forces have been aided by the power of the dark wizard Grindelwald. At a great cost, my associates in the magical French resistance have managed to obtain for us detailed plans of Grindelwald's contributions to the Nazi's costal defenses. As you can see in those photographs, Grindelwald has constructed a series of small and compact enchanted fortified outposts along the entire coastline. Clearly the fortresses themselves, but if they were to be defended by skilled wizards, they would pose a formidable obstacle that could stop our entire invasion in its tracks."

Eisenhower looked slightly alarmed, "So what can we do about it?"

Dumbledore explained in his calm, professorial tone, "Grindelwald's forces are currently massed in Russia, and he has the entire European coastline to defend. Given how thin he is stretched, it is highly improbable that these outposts will be defended by his finest warriors. My team can land in Normandy in advance of the invasion and destroy the fortifications before they can become a factor in the battle."

Quietly accepting this new information, Eisenhower quickly gave his approval to Dumbledore's operation. After fielding a few more questions he arose to conclude the meeting, "Gentlemen, we are about to embark on one of the most noble causes in history. Good luck and Godspeed."

"How many times are we going to have to sweep this floor?" grumbled MacDonald.

"Until I say it's finished," said Bromhead, poking his head in the room. His alert instincts had informed him that Macdonald and Reynolds were likely planning some sort of prank, so he had decided to act preemptively and make them clean a large room full of radio equipment.

"So you heard we're going to France?" Reynolds mentioned to MacDonald, looking around to make sure nobody was listening.

MacDonald grinned widely, "I cannot wait to go to France; the sights, the cuisine, but most of all the women. We really do need to find ourselves some French birds, I mean Lieutenant Evans and his pilot mate already scooped up the only decent girls here, unless you're desperate enough to talk to McGonagall that is." His expression turned to one of disgust at the mention of the witch's name.

Reynolds shook his head and laughed, "Speak for yourself mate, but I'm going to ask Jane out."

MacDonald admired his gumption but did not share his confidence as he asked, "Don't you think that's a bit of a stretch mate? I mean she's a high flying socialite and you're just a goofy Aussie."

Reynolds slapped MacDonald on the back and assumed an informative tone, "You have much to learn of the ways of women, my friend. You see, Jane is American. All you have to do to get American girls is go up to them and say 'Oi I have an accent,' it's really that simple."

MacDonald was unconvinced, "Ten pounds says she turns you down."

"You have yourself a deal mate," said Reynolds, grinning widely as they shook hands.

Daisy calmly restrained herself from throwing anything or banging her head on her desk as Jane continued to bombard her with questions.

"So how do you like having a King? That seems so quaint and charming. Oh, do you ever get invited to parties at the palaces? I've heard those are amazing; my father might be able to pull some strings and get me an audience with the royals." said Jane.

Daisy and Lydia exchanged grimaces, hoping to avoid an international incident.

MacDonald covertly watched from a safe distance as Reynolds confidently strolled straight up to Jane's desk.

"I do not believe we've been properly introduced; I'm Will Reynolds." he greeted her.

Jane looked up at him, "Well, Will Reynolds that has to be the strangest British accent I've ever heard."

Reynolds gave her a sly grin, "That's because I'm not British, I'm Australian."

Jane's eyes went wide with amazement, "Australia? I've always wanted to go there, but I've heard they have some pretty dangerous creatures."

Reynolds took a seat on her desk as he explained, "Well yes, kangaroos are nasty little gits, I wouldn't want to get in a scrap with one of them. And then of course we have crocodiles, and then there's dingoes, nasty mangy dogs that come at night and steal your babies. But we also have koalas, which are the cutest things you will ever see."

Jane was clearly impressed, "I'd love to hear more about Australia, it sounds so fascinating."

Reynolds sensed his opening, "Well what do you say then, how about you and I go out sometime and I can tell you all about it?"

Jane smiled at him, "I'd love to."

"Alright then, we have a deal," said Reynolds, who strutted away, completely full of himself. "Time to pay up mate." he whispered as he walked past the incredulous MacDonald.

Amongst the lush fields and hedgerows of Normandy, Thorston Herzog arrived at the small stone fortress for his nightly watch. Initially he had been very excited about the thrill of fighting for Grindelwald, but that thrill had disappeared in the drudgery of his daily routine. Every night was the same; he would stand around in the fort with orders to report anything that happened, but obviously nothing ever did.

As he began to settle in for another night of boredom, his friend Jonas Glockner, who was on watch at the adjacent fort, came over for a chat.

"Are you ready for another night of excitement?" Jonas announced as he entered Thorston's fort.

"I'm sure this will be the most exciting one yet." Thorston answered sarcastically.

Neither one of them were particularly skilled in the magical department. Thorston had been born a squib, much to the chagrin of his family. Jonas was a wizard, but he had been expelled from Durmstang after his third year due to poor academic performance. They both saw fighting for Grindelwald as an opportunity to advance their lot, as well as have an exciting adventure. However, their lack of skills and stature had held them back from more glamorous assignments, and now they were here, guarding lonely outposts in northern France while the bulk of Grindelwald's army was fighting in Russia.

"Lucky for us, I brought along something that might improve this watch a bit," said Jonas, as he pulled a bottle of vodka out of bag.

"I don't know if that's such a good idea, drinking on watch and all." said Thorston hesitantly.

"Oh come on, it's not like anything ever happens here." Jonas responded.

Thorston relented and took a long swig from the bottle as he looked out across the field towards the peaceful, quiet beach. He acknowledged to himself that Jonas was correct; nothing ever did happen there, and there was no reason to suspect that it would.

The night of June 5, 1944 was one of momentous activity for the Allied powers. All over England, the massive armed camps of soldiers came to life as they prepared to depart on the largest invasion in world history. The drone of thousands of engines and propellers filled the air as a large fleet of aircraft took to the sky, carrying the paratroopers that would be the first wave of the attack. Meanwhile, thousands of ships filled the English Channel, preparing to carry the bulk of the American and British Armies to their landing zones on the beaches of France.

At Bletchley Park, the scene was no different as the team prepared to embark on the mission Dumbledore had drawn up, which seemed to be vital to the success of the overall invasion. Spinelli had already taken the galley to Plymouth and would be departing the next morning with Elphias Doge and Benny Hamilton to land the two wizards on the beach, where they would cast shield charms and provide cover for the main invasion force. Meanwhile, the rest of the group was going to be dropping into France by air that night. After having a talk with Evans and Dumbledore, Roger Cranford had agreed to remain with the organization. To fulfill their aeronautical needs, he had managed requisition an aging cargo plane, which he had made extensive repairs to and was now in reasonable flying condition.

Before departing the estate for the small, nearby air strip from which Roger would be taking off, Evans took the opportunity to say goodbye to Daisy, who was working the night shift at the communications desk.

"So what do you want me to bring you from France? Some new jewelry maybe? Or perhaps some artwork?" He asked her.

"Oh John, I'd be happy just to have you back in one piece," she said as she playfully grabbed his arm.

Evans rapidly flipped through the book of useful French phrases that he had been meticulously studying the past few days, determined to teach himself at least the bare minimum of conversational French before he departed.

He stopped on a certain page, finding a phrase he wanted to announce. "Here's a good one, joo voo-dray un croissant," he said, struggling mightily with the French pronunciations, "That means I would like a croissant."

"That's the most important thing you'll need to know." said Daisy.

"Ahh here's another good one," he announced with a grin, "Everton sont meilleurs que Liverpool; that means Everton are better than Liverpool."

Daisy laughed, "I am certain you will find a situation there in which you will have to know how to say that."

He made one last check through his pack, making sure he had brought all the equipment he would need, that his rifle was clean and operational, and most importantly, that his parachute was securely packed. As he prepared to leave for the airfield could feel something eating away at him; a phrase that he had wanted to say for quite some time but had never really found the right moment, but he saw no better time than right now.

Looking back, he nervously proclaimed, "I love you, Daisy."

Daisy was silent for a tense moment as she searched for the right response. Finally, she responded, "Moi aussi Je t'aime," in perfectly accented French.

Evans quickly and nervously paged through his French phrase book, desperately attempting to translate what Daisy had just said. With a warm smile, she grabbed the book from him and slammed it shut.

"It means I love you too, John," she explained, giving him a soft kiss goodbye as he turned to walk out the door.

At the airfield, MacDonald and Reynolds loaded their equipment into the plane's cargo bay as Roger performed his pre-flight checks; making sure the cockpit, engines and propellers were in working order.

"Are the wizards coming with us?" MacDonald asked as he carefully placed a large box of ammunition in the cargo hold.

"No they're not, Dumbledore said they're going to fly alongside on their broom sticks and rendezvous with you all when you land," Roger answered him.

MacDonald breathed a sigh of relief, "Oh good, that's great news. There is no way I could stand an entire plane ride to France with Minerva Mc-Know-it-all sitting there bothering us."

Reynolds added another box of ammunition to the pile as he felt himself becoming exasperated with his friend. He told him in a firm voice, "Look mate, you need to get over yourself and just admit that you fancy her."

"What the hell are you talking about?" MacDonald asked uncomfortably.

Reynolds calmly explained, "I was reading one of those new psychology books in my spare time and I think it describes you perfectly. You see, joining the Army was your first time living away from your mother, who you obviously hold in high regard. Army discipline is all well and good, but you really miss having an authoritative female figure in your life. Now that one has arrived here, you are falling in love with her and you can't bring yourself to admit it."

MacDonald's face grew even redder than his hair as he said defensively, "That is the most preposterous load of rubbish I have ever heard in my life."

Roger poked his head out from the cockpit as he added, "I've noticed it too; you always seem to be stealing glances at her."

MacDonald became even more uncomfortable and defensive as he stuttered, "Well…you know…it's like a car wreck, when you don't want to see it but you're going to keep looking at it anyway."

"Yes, of course, that's exactly what you're doing," said Reynolds sarcastically.

MacDonald was spared from further interrogation by the approach of Bromhead driving a jeep which also carried Evans, Dumbledore and McGonagall. MacDonald and McGonagall made eye contact for a brief instant before he nervously looked away and walked onto the plane. Reynolds, Bromhead, and Evans followed him onboard as they strapped themselves into their seats and prepared for takeoff. Roger concluded his preflight inspection and started the engines as the propellers began to turn, creating a powerful force of wind.

Minerva waited on the air strip with her broom in hand as Dumbledore poked his head through the door of the plane.

"You have all been briefed on the mission. We will land at the rendezvous point we discussed and proceed with the mission as planned. I wish you all luck, and I'll see you on the other side of the Channel," Dumbledore announced to the group, having to speak loudly to be heard over the propellers.

"Happy flying, Dumbledore!" said Roger with a wave.

Dumbledore stepped off and retrieved his broom from McGonagall as the plane slowly taxied down the runway, preparing to lift off into the night.


	13. Chapter 13

Unwilling and unable to sleep, Winston Churchill nervously paced back and forth through his underground war rooms. It had been a long and arduous journey for him thus far through four long years of war. His dogged determination had led the British people through their darkest days, when it seemed as if all hope was lost. Now, with the largest invasion force ever assembled poised to embark on the liberation of a continent, he could almost feel a sense of vindication, knowing that all his tireless work had been worth it.

"Sir, General Eisenhower is on the line," an aide informed Churchill.

Churchill eagerly took the phone; this was the call he had been waiting for. The past few days had seen conflicting weather reports, many of which cast great doubt on the invasion plans. Churchill had discussed the issues at length with President Roosevelt, but the decision to go ahead with the invasion rested ultimately with Eisenhower.

"General Eisenhower, I've been waiting all night to hear from you, so what's the verdict?" Churchill asked into the phone.

"It's now or never, Sir, this is the best chance we'll ever have. I have given the order to go," said the General on the other end.

Churchill took a moment to let the realization that the invasion was actually happening set in before responding, "This is a massive undertaking, General, and I wish you the best of luck. May history prove that our cause was just and our actions were the right ones."

With a strong wind rushing through his hair, Dumbledore clung tightly to his broom stick, closely following in the draft of the aircraft in front of him as they passed over narrow expanse of the English Channel and the beaches of Normandy. At the moment, the beaches were calm and peaceful as the moonlight reflected off the ocean. But in a few short hours, those same beaches would become one of the bloodiest battlefields in history. Dumbledore took a quick look over his shoulder to make sure that Minerva McGonagall was still following close behind him in a tight formation. Minerva was only a few months removed from her role as a chaser on the Gryffindor quidditch team, and flying had always seemed to come naturally to her. They followed closely behind the aircraft as the beaches soon gave way to green fields and their objective grew nearer.

Inside the plane, the men waited in nervous anticipation, performing safety checks on their weapons and equipment to keep themselves occupied.

Finally, Roger announced over the intercom, "We are now approaching the drop zone," as a small red light over the aircraft's door suddenly changed to green.

Evans stood up and shouted over the background noise, "You heard him lads, it's time to jump!"

Slowly and steadily, they all hooked in their harnesses and lined up by the door. They had been through Army parachute training in the months leading up to the invasion, but jumping into hostile territory adding a new dimension to what was already a frightening enough task to begin with.

Evans assumed his position as jump master and took a quick look at the fields below that were far too dark to see in detail before barking the order, "Go!"

"I've always wanted to do this!" Reynolds said excitedly as he leaped out the door.

MacDonald hesitated on the edge, momentarily letting his nerves get the best of him as he looked down.

"It's really not as high as you think," said Bromhead nonchalantly, as he gave MacDonald a hearty slap on the back to help him find his way out.

"Talley Ho!" said Bromhead to Evans, before the dependable sergeant followed MacDonald out the door.

Evans paused; no matter how many times he did this it would always scare the living daylights out of him. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath before charging forward until he no longer felt anything underneath him.

"Give 'em hell, Johnny!" Roger called out after him as he jumped.

For a few brief moments, Evans felt the sensation of free fall as he was rapidly plummeting. But then, he felt a strong tug upwards as his rip cord was pulled and the parachute opened up, the white fabric billowing as it filled up with air. He breathed a deep sigh of relief knowing that the parachute was in working order. He slowly glided towards the ground, gently tugging the strings so as not to land too close to a nearby cluster of trees. The ground appeared closer and closer until his feet struck the ground. He bent his knees as he tucked and rolled over before coming to an upright position; a text book perfect landing.

Evans quickly looked around and saw Bromhead and Reynolds unhooking themselves from their harnesses after making smooth landings of their own. He also saw Dumbledore and McGonagall slowly drifting to a landing as they hovered on their broom sticks.

Scanning the area, Evans soon became alarmed, "Where's MacDonald?"

Bromhead sighed in frustration, wondering what type of trouble the young mischievous Scot may have gotten himself into as they began to fan out and form a search party.

Finally, they heard a familiar Scottish accent echoing through the night air, "Oi, I'm over here!"

Evans ran through the tall grass towards the source of the noise, and he came upon a small farm house with several animal pens attached. With great alarm, he noticed that the roof of the glass encased chicken coup was completely shattered. He kicked open the door and stormed inside the chicken coup, where he made a startling discovery.

"Oh bloody hell!" he exclaimed, trying to suppress a fit of laughter, as the rest of the group came running up behind him. MacDonald had made a rough landing on the glass roof, which had shattered on impact. He was now laying on his back, unable to get up due to the weight of his pack, while several chickens were attempting to attack and drive out their mysterious imposter.

"Well are you going to help me up or are you all just having a laugh?" he asked in an annoyed tone.

Reynolds was laughing hysterically, unable to contain himself as he exclaimed, "That is such a good look for you mate, being covered in chicken poo; it fits your personality so perfectly."

"Oh sod off you wanker," MacDonald muttered under his breath as Evans and Bromhead grabbed a hold of either arm and lifted him up to stand on his feet. As he groaned mightily from the pain of his recent injuries while struggling to stand up, he couldn't help but notice a very sympathetic glance sent his way by McGonagall.

With the first crisis sufficiently taken care of, the group walked outside, where Dumbledore was distributing large bags that resembled burlap sacks which were filled with a mysterious and dangerous object.

"These are erumpent horns, and they are highly explosive," Dumbledore calmly explained, "Because we are destroying magically constructed buildings, I believed it wise to use magical explosives. They actually function very similarly to your dynamite or grenades I believe. I must remind you again just how powerful they are; one or two of these should be more than sufficient to bring down any building."

The men looked on in awe, very impressed with this new discovery, and extremely disappointed that they had never known about it before.

Dumbledore explained further, "We usually use magical spells to set them off, but in the experiments I have conducted, I have concluded that the simple lighted fuse that you are accustomed too would function perfectly well; although I must warn you to take every effort to reach a safe distance as far away as possible before setting them off, as they are extremely dangerous and powerful."

All four soldiers grinned widely as they conjured visions of the pyrotechnics display of epic proportions that they were about to undertake.

Dumbledore distributed some crude hand drawn maps as he informed them, "You can see the landing zones for the invasion clearly delineated on these maps, and I have also marked the relevant fortifications in each sector. I cannot stress to you how vital it is that these fortifications are disabled prior to the troop landings. Minerva and I have the fastest methods of transportation, so we will handle the farthest away forts on either side. When you have completed your tasks, please plan to rendezvous at this point. We are close enough to England that I should be able to apparate back, and use Side-Along Apparition for the rest of you. This should be a straightforward and uncomplicated task, and once again I must stress to you all just how dangerous these erumpent horns can be."

His instructions concluded, Dumbledore slung a bag over his shoulder and lifted off on his broom, flying towards the outer limit of the sector they were clearing. McGonagall pushed her broom into the air and flew off rapidly, heading in the opposite direction as Dumbledore.

"Alright then, let's split up and get this done as fast as we can," said Evans, as he very cautiously cradled the bag of erumpent horns in his arms and ran towards the nearest target with MacDonald at his side.

Evans and MacDonald ran among the gardens and hedgerows, hastily dodging from one protective covering to the next. They could hear loud gunfire in the distance as American and British paratroopers had been landing all over the terrain. There were loud echoes as German anti-aircraft guns opened fire on the Allied planes overhead. A few miles away from their position, a unit of British paratroopers was engaged in a fierce battle with the local German garrison for control of a crucial bridge that was part of the main road over passing the river. Evans blocked these distractions out of his mind and forced himself to focus on the task at hand. He took another long look at Dumbledore's map, straining his eyes to read in the evening light, and not daring to light up his torch for fear of giving away their position. According to the map, they were only a few hundred yards away now.

Evans and MacDonald slowly and cautiously made their way across a thickly overgrown field, when they suddenly came across a sinister looking building made of large black stones that was about the size of a standard barn. They quickly sprinted up to the side of the building and quietly pressed themselves against the side wall to take cover.

Making as little motion as possible, Evans slowly turned his neck so that he could poke his head around the corner and assess the situation. From what he could tell, there only seemed to be one guard; a young man in black, magical looking robes who seemed to be completely oblivious and maybe even slightly intoxicated. He carefully looked around and did not see any other signs of life on the premises. Evans looked back and gave a sly nod towards MacDonald, who understood the signal.

Slowly and meticulously placing one foot in front of the other so as not to make a sound, MacDonald made a stealthy approach behind the back of the still clueless and seemingly incompetent guard. Finally, the guard sensed a presence behind him and slowly turned around, but unluckily for him it was now too late. MacDonald jumped the guard from behind, clasping his hand over his mouth to prevent him from calling for help, as he choked him in a tight sleeper hold until he passed out.

Evans cautiously trudged inside the fort, unsure of just what enchantments it might be armed with. Pleasantly surprised at the lack of security, Evans gingerly removed two erumpent horns from his bag and strategically placed them in two corners of the building that seemed to be closest to the foundations. He then tied fuss to the ends of the horns, which he methodically strung out as far as he could while walking outside the fort. MacDonald dragged the unconscious guard away from the building before running to catch up to Evans.

They stood about a hundred yards from the fort, at the extreme limit of how far the fuse would reach.

"So do you think these things are as powerful as Dumbledore kept saying they are?" asked MacDonald with a sense of eager anticipation.

"Well, we're about to find out," Evans responded with a grin.

He reached into his pocket to retrieve a pack of matches. In his excitement, he bungled several lighting attempts and broke a few matches. Finally, with his supply running low, he succeeded in starting a flame, which he carefully lowered to light the fuse. Once the fuse was sufficiently burning, the two men took off in a full speed sprint and desperately dove for cover in a nearby ditch. From their protected position, they turned and looked back just in time to feel the earth shake underneath them and see fragments of black rock flying in every possible direction as bright orange flames shot high into the night sky. It was by far the biggest explosion they had ever witnessed.

Inside a spacious and well decorated office in an exclusive district of Paris, Franz Dietrich slowly pored over another day's worth of painfully mundane paperwork. As honored as he had felt to be placed in charge of the Western theater by Grindelwald, he absolutely hated the administrative tasks that came with the job. Though skilled in many facets of his job, he was a fighter first and foremost, and he yearned to be on the battlefield.

He looked through the growing stack of reports that were piled high on his desk as he took into account some of the curious events that had occurred on his watch. First, there had been reports of an incident at a naval base in Norway. One of their crucial North Atlantic sea monsters had gone missing, and two German submarines had also been destroyed. Not long after that, he had been informed that there were massive fires and explosions witnessed in the wizarding village of Ste. Jean Charlemagne, which had become a much needed supply depot for Grindelwald's forces. Dietrich had launched cursory investigations into these incidents, but was unable to determine any possible causes. It was possible that they may have just been catastrophic accidents, but it somehow it just seemed like too much of a coincidence, as if they were coordinated attacks by a well organized foe.

Dietrich had not reported these incidents to Grindelwald, and he had instead opted to attempt to cover them up. He feared the questions that would arise if he went to Grindelwald with incomplete information, and most of all he just feared Grindelwald's wrath. He was going to make every attempt to ensure that things on the front stayed quiet enough that Grindelwald would not see any need to get involved. He was slowly beginning to realize that the higher he rose in Grindelwald's power structure; there was greater and greater risk of one small mistake costing him his life.

The office door swung open as his colleague Sebastian Schwartz, a short round faced man with an eye for administrative details, entered the room.

"I brought some fresh baguettes," Schwartz happily announced as he carried a large bag of bread into the room.

Dietrich acknowledged to himself that this was probably the main reason he had chosen the food loving Schwartz as his top assistant.

"Have you caught any more prisoners today?" Dietrich inquired.

"That's a negative, Franz, and we have not found any more leads either," Schwartz responded.

Dietrich grimaced; the fact that well over half the people on their list of undesirables to apprehend remained at large with their whereabouts unknown was yet another complication that he did not need right now.

Dietrich looked up with a start when a door made a loud crash after being slammed open by the burly strong arms of Hans Panzerlieder, who clearly did not have the brains to match.

"How much longer do we have to stay here?" Panzerleider grumbled, "It's so boring with nothing to fight, can I at least go look for dragons in the countryside?"

"What we're doing is called an occupation, Hans, "Schwartz explained in a condescending tone, "It's not a glamorous job but it's what we have to do. It's sound military strategy; I suggest you should read up on your Clausewitz."

"Schwartz, the only thing your fat arse has been occupying is the local bakeries," Panzerlieder said dismissively.

"That's really original Hans, I think you're the first person that's ever made a joke like that," Schwartz responded.

Dietrich tuned them out as he adjusted the dial of the radio on his desk, curious to hear a nightly news report. He listened to the local Muggle news every night to attempt to glean information, but it had been quite some time since he had heard anything remotely interesting. However, what he heard on this night brought him to a stop. He bellowed at Panzerlieder and Schwartz to cease their bickering as he turned up the radio's volume and listened carefully. According to the news, there were unconfirmed reports of Allied troops landing in Normandy. There was no further information available about their numbers or possible objectives.

Dietrich quickly rifled through his papers to find his log book. He furiously tore through the pages until he found the relevant page, which confirmed that several forts near Normandy had not checked in on time that night. Ordinarily this would not be cause for concern, as the wizards who manned the night watches on the forts were far from the cream of the crop and it was not unexpected for them to bungle their assignments. However, when combined with the possible Allied landings, not to mention the other mysterious recent events, it seemed as if far too many of things had aligned for this to be a coincidence. He leaped out of his chair and gripped his wand tightly as he ran to summon his colleagues.

"Grab your wands boys," he barked at Schwartz and Panzerlieder, "We're going to Normandy."

As gunfire echoed in the distance, Evans and MacDonald expeditiously made their way back to the rendezvous point; covering each other with their rifles as they swiftly darted from one covered position to the next. They did not know just how much attention had been roused by their destruction of the fort, and they did not intend to stick around long enough to find out.

Evans scanned the area, straining his eyes to see in the dark night, and saw no obstructions between him and the row of hedges MacDonald behind which Macdonald had taken cover, which were a few hundred feet ahead and slightly to the left. He took one last look to his left and then his right, and then stood up and ran as fast as he could towards the hedges, finally diving and rolling to a stop near MacDonald's position.

"Extra points for style on that role, Sir," MacDonald greeted him.

Evans squinted to take another look at the map; they did not have much further to go to reach the rendezvous point. He momentarily relaxed his level of alertness, and was greatly startled by the clicking sound of a rifle bolt as several shadowy figures arrived behind them.

"Put your hands up! Drop your weapons!" the man loudly barked as he pointed his rifle at Evans.

Evans and MacDonald kneeled and raised their hands in the air, silently cursing themselves for letting themselves get caught off guard in that manner. However, once Evan fully processed the information, he felt a deep sigh of relief realized that the voices behind him were thoroughly English.

"It's alright, we're on your side, "Evans calmly stated, his voice shaking ever so slightly as the man continued to point his rifle in their direction.

"Sing the national anthem then!" the skeptical man demanded in response.

"That's ridiculous, mate, we're clearly not German," MacDonald spoke up.

"You heard me, sing it!" the man loudly and firmly insisted.

Evans was never one to sing or do anything musical for that matter, but seeing no way around it he began to sing as best he could, "_God save our gracious King, God save our noble King, God save the King…"_

"Alright, get up," the man finally conceded. He offered a handshake, "Lieutenant Tim Pickering, Seventh Battalion, C Company, and this is what I've found of my men so far," he added as he indicated the three men standing behind him.

Evan firmly shook his hand, "Lieutenant John Evans and Corporal Duncan MacDonald," he paused before adding a slight fib, "Sixth Battalion, D Company."

"Sixth Battalion?" Pickering asked with a quizzical expression, "You must have really missed your drop zone."

"We certainly did," said MacDonald with a grin.

"Well our unit's scattered all over the place, and it seems like it's the same for everybody. Nobody landed exactly where they were meant to," Pickering informed them.

"Oh yes, fog of war and all that," Evans understandingly acknowledged.

"Oh, and I'm sorry about pointing a rifle at you and everything, I just had to be certain we were on the same side, you never can be too sure, especially in the dark and everything," Pickering conceded.

Evans searched his mind for a way to extract himself from the conversation when they were interrupted by a sudden burst of gun fire and forced to scramble for cover, hastily diving behind a nearby hedge row, with some of them losing their helmets in the process.

"Now those bastards are definitely not on our side!" Pickering shouted as he could hear German voices in the distance.

Slowly and cautiously, Evans peeked his head over the hedge row to assess the situation. There was a log stone wall about one hundred yards in front of them that cut through an open field, and a group of German soldiers of about equal size to their own group was taking cover behind it as they fired their weapons.

Pickering and his men quickly established covered positions behind the hedge row, and periodically popped up to exchange fire with the Germans behind the wall as the open field in between them soon became a very deadly crossfire with neither side really having an advantage.

The tense and dangerous standoff continued until finally, Evans had an idea. "Cover me!" he shouted, as he rose from his position and began to run across the field.

"Get back here! That's mental!" Pickering shouted after him.

"It's alright, he has a plan," said MacDonald, who instantly knew exactly what Evans was thinking.

Pickering, MacDonald and the other troops wildly fired their weapons in the direction of the stone wall; desperately doing anything they could to draw attention away from Evans. AS he darted as quickly as possible across the field, Evans hunched his back and hung his head low to present as small a target as possible. He erratically zigzagged, dodging several salvos of bullets, until he finally dove and flattened himself face first on the ground about twenty yards away from the wall. He dragged himself with his arms, staying as flat on the ground as possible, as he reached into his bag of erumpent horns. There was only one left, so he had to make it count.

He held the horn in his hand and rolled over to his back as lobbed the horn as high as he could over the wall. _Just like playing cricket back at Cambridge_ he told himself. He curled up into a ball and covered his ears as he waited in nervous anticipation for the blast. He sweat profusely while his heart pounded in his chest and time seemed to stand still for him. Finally, the earth reverberated with the concussion of the explosion and he was covered in several layers of dust and debris. He breathed a deep sigh of relief as the guns fell silent.

Tim Pickering came running towards Evans to help him up as he excitedly asked, "That was bloody brilliant! What the hell was that thing?"

Evans shrugged, "Just a grenade."

Pickering shook his head in astonishment, "Well we need to rendezvous with the rest of our battalion, wherever they are. You buys are pretty good in a scrap; we'd love to have you with us."

"Thanks, but we have our own unit to get back to," Evans politely declined.

"Right, well good luck to you then," said Pickering, as he and his men ran off in the direction of the nearest town.

"Now we're really running late," Evans said quietly to MacDonald, as they began to move again at a very brisk pace towards their rendezvous point with Dumbledore and the rest of the group.

Finally, they reached the designated point and found Bromhead patiently and alertly standing guard while Reynolds walked around, scanning the area.

"What took you so long, Lieutenant?" Reynolds called out to them.

"Oh, we just had a slight hold up," answered Evans in his typical understated manner.

"Everything went smoothly on our end, but we're still waiting for the wizards, no signs from them yet," Bromhead informed them.

Dawn was beginning to break over the horizon when Dumbledore finally came into view, calmly gliding to a stop on his broom.

"I just made a quick flyover of the beaches, and I am pleased to report that the landings seem to be happening on schedule," Dumbledore informed them.

"So where's Minerva? MacDonald asked him, a slight tone of agitation in his voice.

"She'll be here, she knows where to meet us," Dumbledore said calmly.

"We should do something! Let's go after her!" MacDonald pleaded.

"Minerva knew the mission and the risks involved and she is perfectly capable of finding her own way back," said Dumbledore in a stern voice.

They were suddenly surrounded with streaks of light as they were bombarded with a barrage of curses, causing a series of explosions all around them. Dumbledore acted quickly and raised a shield charm to prevent further damage. Evans painfully clutched his arm, which was definitely broken. Bromhead seemed to have a leg injury, and Reynolds was knocked backwards but otherwise unhurt.

Dumbledore turned and looked to see a group of three wizards approaching their position. There was a large burly man who was roughly handling Minerva as a prisoner, a fierce looking man who seemed to be the leader of the group, and a short, round man following behind.

"That's Franz Dietrich, Grindelwald's second-in-command," Dumbledore explained, "Take cover and let me handle this."

Dumbledore charged towards the three wizards, displaying a ferocity the men had yet to see from him.

Dietrich was shocked when he realized who his opponent was, but he soon allowed himself to dream of the honors this might lead Grindelwald to bestow on him as he incanted, "Avada Kedavra!"

With a mighty leap, Dumbledore skillfully evaded the incoming killing curse, which landed harmlessly in the grass. Dumbledore dove to the ground to avoid a subsequent and curse, then rolled over and rose to his knee as he fired a stunning spell, which barely missed Dietrich but scored a direct hit on his shorter companion.

MacDonald stood among his wounded comrades, feeling powerless as he helplessly watched the two wizards duel. He lined up his rifle towards the large wizard holding Minerva hostage and looked through the sights, but he determined it was not worth the risk, she was standing far too close to him.

Seeing no other options, and worrying about what might happen to Dumbledore, who was still fiercely engaged in a duel, he fixed his bayonet to the end of his rifle and charged forward, ignoring the warnings that Dumbledore shouted at him.

As MacDonald ran forward at full speed, the large wizard turned and laughed as he shouted, "Crucio!"

Macdonald's entire body was overcome with an intense, searing pain. It was far stronger than anything he had ever experienced, and he so badly wanted it to stop. But amidst the agony, somewhere deep inside him, he felt an inner strength, urging him to block out the pain and keep charging forward. He wizard's expression changed from one of dismissive disdain to one of utter shock as MacDonald drew closer and closer to him, _if he could just close the gap._

Finally, only a few feet remained between them and MacDonald lunged forward, painfully pricking the wizard with his bayonet before the very strong wizard turned and knocked him out with a well placed punch. The scuffle was enough for Minerva to break free of his clutches, and she quickly recovered her wand and hit the wizard point blank with a stunning spell.

Minerva nervously stood among the unconscious bodies of MacDonald and her assailant as Dumbledore finally overcame Dietrich with a stunning spell of his own and ran over to her side.

"He's hurt… he needs help bad," she told Dumbledore, shaking as she said the words.

Dumbledore looked at her with a collected demeanor as he calmly and firmly told her, "Minerva, I need you to focus. We are going to use Side-Along Apparition and we are going to get everybody out of here."

Minerva wrapped her arms around MacDonald as Dumbledore threw a large bear hug around the other three soldiers, and with a quick series of pops, they were soon back on English soil.

Evans and Bromhead recovered enough to walk away on their own power, and with Reynolds' assistance they used a stretcher that Dumbledore had transfigured to carry MacDonald to the nearest medical station.

Still visibly shaken, Minerva turned towards Dumbledore and observed, "He ran straight into a crucio curse. I didn't know that was possible for anybody, let alone a Muggle."

Dumbledore looked back at her with his familiar all knowing gleam as he calmly informed her, "Minerva, I believe you will find that love is the strongest power of all."


	14. Chapter 14

It was a very pleasant summer afternoon as Evans strolled arm in arm with Daisy along a winding tree lined road, with his other arm wrapped securely in a sling. He had just finished receiving a full account of the landings on the beaches from Joe Spinelli, who had a very interesting tale to tell. The fighting had been intense, but one the initial beach heads were secured, the Allies were advancing all across the front.

"So was France everything you dreamed it would be?" Daisy asked in a slightly teasing tone.

"Well the scenery was excellent, but we didn't have the opportunity to experience the cuisine, and I have to say I found the hospitality severely lacking, but I blame the Germans for that , of course," he said with a grin.

Daisy had a brief laugh before asking, "So, while we're talking about France, who's your favorite French writer?" She smiled widely, continuing to be very much pleased to have found somebody who would willingly and knowledgably participate in that type of discussion.

Evans thought deeply for a moment before answering, "I would have to say Voltaire."

She looked back at him incredulously, "Really? I did not see that one coming; I was definitely expecting you to say Dumas or Victor Hugo, somebody like that."

They proceeded to have a very friendly yet mildly contentious debate on the merits of various French writers as they proceeded down a tree lined path to a small, nondescript country house that Dumbledore had requisitioned to use as a medical facility. With Hogwarts out of session for the summer, Dumbledore was able to convince his faculty colleague Poppy Pomfrey to lend her healing talents to the war effort for the time being.

Evans' arm had been a relatively easy fix for Madam Pomfrey, but MacDonald, who was still confined to the medical ward, had required a bit more work. Pomfrey had loudly scolded Dumbledore for allowing a Muggle to reach that condition when she first encountered him, but after stretching her skills to their limits, MacDonald was finally put on the road to recovery.

Evans and Daisy walked through the entrance to the cottage where they were greeted by Nigel Bromhead standing awkwardly on a set of crutches.

"How's the leg?" Evans asked him with concern.

Bromhead shrugged it off, "They said I can return to duty in six weeks; I'll be back next week of course."

Evans slapped him heartily on the back, "Now that's the spirit!"

They walked towards the end of the room where the heavily bandaged MacDonald was sitting up in his hospital bed. They were all glad to see that his usual sense of humor was still very much present. Reynolds was patiently sitting by MacDonald's side, obviously coming up with some sort of scheme that would drive poor Madam Pomfrey mental, when the Scot noticed his new guests.

"Lieutenant Evans Sir, I knew you'd make it here," nodding to Daisy he added, "And I'm a little sad to see that I'm not the only ginger in your life anymore, but I'm sure there's plenty of room for both of us."

Evans laughed and shook his head in amazement, very pleased that MacDonald seemed to be remaining in good spirits. "We're all glad to see you being yourself," he said sincerely.

MacDonald nodded, "Aye, but if I can make one complaint, I never thought I would experience worse food then army food, but hospital food has achieved that. And I must say wizard hospital food is even worse than ours."

The gathered guests laughed in unison until they noticed a very concerned looking Minerva McGonagall enter the room.

"Oh, how could I forget, we have to go to that meeting now," Evans announced, forcing himself not to smile.

"Oh yes, the important meeting," said Bromhead with a knowing nod.

"I didn't know we had a meeting," objected Reynolds, until stern looks from both Evans and Bromhead helped him figure out their true meaning.

They quickly said their goodbyes to their comrade and left the room as Minerva took the now vacated seat at the side of his bed.

"I brought you shortbread biscuits, your favorite," said Minerva, as she produced a round tin from her bag.

MacDonald's eyes lit up in anticipation, "How did you know?"

"Well I just assumed every good Scot would love shortbread," she assured him.

MacDonald slowly processed what she had told him before he finally made a long overdue observation, "Wait, you're Scottish too?"

Minerva laughed playfully, "Well my name is McGonagall, what did you think?"

"Well I just kind of assumed that you were so uptight and haughty that you had to be English," MacDonald teased, as they both had a good laugh.

With the tension greatly eased, they sat and conversed for hours, discovering many other things they never knew about each other.

Inside his underground bunker, Winston Churchill stood in the massive map room, patiently watching as his tired and overworked staff worked the phones and telegraphs, and constantly updated the troop positions on the map with the latest reports from the field. As he took it all in, it was finally beginning to sink in that the tide of the war was beginning to turn. All across the front, Allied troops were advancing forward, and the liberation of France was well underway.

The Normandy invasion had been a massive risk, its scale far surpassing any military operation in history. And now, it appeared that the risk was paying off. The Allied armies had made large landings on five beaches in northern France and were now pushing inland. The German defenders had put up a very strong resistance and the landing forces had suffered very high casualties. There had been some desperate moments on the morning of June 6 when the outcome of the entire war seemed to hang in the balance. But after the initial resistance, the Allies had pushed on and broken through their beachheads, fighting their way across the hedgerows of the French countryside. Now, the German army was in full retreat as the Allies had opened a clear road to Paris. Churchill had exchanged several congratulatory phone calls with President Franklin Roosevelt, and they were both greatly pleased that their strong alliance had been so effective.

With a satisfied grin, Churchill retreated into his office, where an equally pleased Horatio Hotspur was eagerly waiting for him.

"Congratulations, Minister, you've done it!" Hotspur exclaimed as he offered a very firm handshake and a pat on the back.

"Your assistance was much appreciated, Minister," said Churchill with his trademark grin.

Hotspur turned to reach into his bag, "f you don't mind, I brought a little something along to celebrate; so are you much of a drinker?"

Churchill laughed at the absurdity of the question as he answered, "When I was younger I made it a rule never to take strong drink before lunch. It is now my rule never to do so before breakfast_._"

Hotspur gave a hearty laugh as he carefully removed a very shiny bottle from his bag. It had a strong blue hue and seemed to be made out of pure sapphires.

"This is a bottle of Nostradamus Blue Label, the finest fire whiskey that exists in the magical world. I've been saving this for a special occasion, and this certainly seems to be one," said Hotspur, as he placed the bottle on Churchill's desk.

"It's always been a rule of mine to never trust a man who doesn't drink whiskey," said Churchill as he eyed the bottle approvingly.

Hotspur added with a note of caution, "I must warn you, it's very strong. It has quite the burn, if you will pardon the pun."

Churchill laughed, amused at how much he was being underestimated, "Horatio, old boy, in my long and tumultuous relationship with the spirits, I have taken a lot more out of alcohol than it has taken out of me."

Hotspur laughed as he poured the drinks, knowing that he would never encounter anybody who could even attempt to match Churchill's wit. The two ministers raised a toast to their alliance as they downed their drinks, attempting to mask their grimaces at the intense burning sensation.

Churchill flashed a "V for Victory" sign with his fingers as he happily proclaimed, "Let's have another."

Churchill and Hotspur had several more rounds, both of them finding great amusement in the fact that the two most powerful men in Britain were drinking fire whiskey in an underground bunker.

Finally, they were interrupted as a very haughty and unpleasant witch entered the room and announced with annoyance, "Mr. Minister, your presence is required back at the Ministry."

Hotspur shook his head in disappointment as he said, "I'm sorry about that rude interruption, Winston. And since she just barged in here without introducing herself I must do the honors, if you can call it that. This is my new aide, Muriel Prewett. Muriel, this is Prime Minister Winston Churchill."

Muriel looked at Churchill with an expression of disgust on her prim and proper face, "You sir, are very drunk."

Hotspur was completely mortified but Churchill laughed it off, "Yes I am drunk, and you, my lady, are ugly. But tomorrow, I will be sober, and you will still be ugly."

Hotspur doubled over in laughter, taking quite some time to compose himself before he finally departed through the fireplace.

Nothing seemed to be going well for Grindelwald as he gritted his teeth and angrily stormed through the streets. His invasion of Russia, which had started out so promising and progressed so quickly, was now slowly grinding to a halt as his forces faced increasingly stiff opposition.

At the outset of the invasion, Grindelwald's wizards had easily decimated the Muggle Russian army while the local they were often met with approval, either actively or tacitly, by the local magical population.

But something Grindelwald had not been counting on had happened. Andrei Krum's killing had been a great propaganda coup for the resistance. Using him as a heroic example, many Eastern European wizards had rallied to join the fight against Grindelwald. Though Grindelwald's wizards were far better fighters and had gotten the upper hand in almost all of their skirmishes so far, the fact that there was any resistance at all was something that Grindelwald most certainly did not need.

And now, with the Eastern front stalled, reports had reached Grindelwald that the entire Western front was collapsing. Allied armies were invading, and the Germans were in full retreat. Grindelwald had tried desperately to contact Franz Dietrich, his subordinate who had obviously badly mishandled his assignment, but since Dietrich was rapidly fleeing across France like the rest of the German army, he had been very difficult to get a hold of. After much searching, Grindelwald finally tracked him down, taking cover in a small farm house in a rural French village.

With rage in his eyes, Grindelwald charged towards Dietrich, who backpedaled as he protested, "My lord…I can explain."

Shaking with anger, Grindelwald grabbed Dietrich by the neck of his robes, pulling him close so that he could yell directly into his face.

"I put you in charge of the Western front because I trusted you! And now, in case you haven't noticed, the whole front ha collapsed and you're retreating in front of a Muggle army! How did this happen? I want answers!" Grindelwald bellowed.

"My lord…the Muggles had help…there are wizards on their side too now," Dietrich stammered.

With great force, Grindelwald angrily threw Dietrich to the ground and proceeded to kick him squarely in the ribs. "Do you mean to tell me that Franz Dietrich, the greatest duelist in the history of Durmstrang, couldn't handle a few wizards?"

"It wasn't just any wizards…he was there," Dietrich struggled to say as he clutched his ribs in pain.

"Who was there?" Grindelwald angrily demanded.

"Albus Dumbledore," Dietrich admitted, gasping for air as he winced in pain.

Grindelwald's expression suddenly changed as a deeply cautious and concerned look came over him. "Are you absolutely certain of this?"

"Yes, my lord," Dietrich confirmed, hoping for mercy as he continued to lie on he floor.

Grindelwald's mind was racing as he slowly turned and walked away. This was definitely not something he had been planning for. Things were about to get very complicated.

After finally being released from the medical cottage, MacDonald walked back to the estate with an extra spring in his step, and he found that life seemed to be considerably easier. Now that the Allies were beginning to win the war, the team was finding that there were many less opportunities for missions and their pace of work began to slow. Dumbledore, however, had been busy as always, constantly keeping abreast of the newest developments and seeking new information. The men couldn't help but notice an interesting trend; that the closer the Allies seemed to get to victory, the more stressed and uncomfortable Dumbledore appeared.

Madam Pomfrey had recommended an hour of walking outside each day to aid MacDonald in his recovery, and Minerva had taken to joining him on these walks. On a particularly sunny autumn afternoon, MacDonald and McGonagall made their way across the lawn, where they noticed Joe Spinelli instructing a small gathering of admiring local girls how to swing a baseball bat.

"Look at me, I'm a yank, I play baseball because rugby is too scary," said MacDonald in a mocking attempt at an American accent.

Minerva laughed and rolled her eyes, "Well, Mr. rugby player, I'd love to see you try your hand at quidditch."

MacDonald was intrigued, "So what is this quidditch you speak of?"

"It's a wizard sport, the rules are a bit complex but basically you fly around on brooms and there's an awful lot of contact," she explained.

"Well I could handle the contact part, but I'm not so sure about the flying," said MacDonald, who seemed genuinely interested in learning this new sport.

Minerva pulled out her wand and cast, "Accio brooms," as two brooms came flying into her outstretched arms. "Here, I can teach you," she said, as she handed one of the brooms to MacDonald.

He looked at her incredulously, "You're actually going to let me fly this thing?"

She looked back at him with a mischievous grin he had never seen from her before as she claimed, "You're not the only one that likes to bend the rules once in a while."

MacDonald hesitantly straddled his broom, patiently watching as Minerva demonstrated for him how to push off. Hovering only a few feet above the ground, MacDonald slowly and nervously moved forward, swerving in every possible direction as he struggled to control the broom.

"There you go; you're getting the hang of it!" Minerva said excitedly as she followed close behind him.

MacDonald continued to struggle mightily; very uncertain of what he was doing, until with a sudden lurch he made a sharp backwards turn, slamming into Minerva and knocking both of them off their broom sticks. They became entangled as they crashed and rolled together on the ground, laughing heartily the whole way.

They slowly regained their composure, smiling widely at each other as they came to a halt, still completely entangled.

"Would it be clichéd and over the top if I kissed you now?" MacDonald asked.

"Not at all," replied Minerva, as she closed her eyes to savor the moment.

Throughout central Europe, the large, majestic peaks of the Alps provided some of the most breathtaking views anywhere in the world. The picturesque ski villages that dotted the snow covered mountain tops provided scenes that would be ideal for any Christmas card, and the views of the valleys and lakes below provided an incomparable natural beauty. It was in this setting, on a particularly inaccessible and otherwise deserted mountain top in the southern German state of Bavaria that Adolf Hitler had constructed the complex he had termed his "eagle's nest." It was the perfect place to plan things unobserved by outsiders, and to hold meetings with the likes of Grindelwald.

Hitler paced towards the panoramic window, turning his back to the outstretched map on the table, as he observed, "I am deeply disturbed by the state of the war, Grindelwald."

"Yes, things have clearly not gone as planned," Grindelwald replied, comfortable in the knowledge that he was probably the only person in the world who could sit there without fearing Hitler's wrath.

"What is this I hear of a powerful wizard aiding the Allies?" Hitler inquired.

"Dumbledore is weak," Grindelwald said dismissively, "He will run and go back into hiding as soon as we are once again victorious."

Hitler sat back down, at a loss for ideas. "So what are you suggesting?" he asked.

Grindelwald pointed to the map with his wand, once again relishing just how easy it was for him to manipulate the dictator, "We should counterattack. We'll wait until the winter, let the Allies get complacent, and then we'll hit them where they least expect it."

Hitler saw the validity of Grindelwald's plan but wasn't entirely convinced yet. "So what if your plan doesn't work?" he asked.

Grindelwald's eyes narrowed with a steely determination as he emphatically stated, "It will work."


	15. Chapter 15

A cold biting wind filled the air and a thick blanket of white snow fell on the ground, as Grindelwald stood at the edges of the Ardennes Forest in Belgium, assembling his mighty army. The hordes of dementors hovering above only contributed to the dark environs. After carefully studying the Allied positions, along with several German generals, it was concluded that this region was the weakest point in the lines, and would therefore be the easiest to exploit. Powerful formations of tanks and artillery were massed amongst the woods, waiting to be set in motion. Grindelwald's wizards, who he had recalled from Russia and other missions, were deployed along the lines as well. Yomuri Yomoto and Landalfo Padovisi were leading magical dispatches that had been dispatched to either flank of the line, and Grindelwald, along with the bulk of his forces, occupied the center.

Wearing a heavy wool parka over his German general's uniform, Grindelwald stood silently with his arms crossed, watching his forces come together. Franz Dietrich stood at his side, looking as fierce as very as he was very eager to atone for his recent failures. Sebastian Schwartz was busily preparing intelligence reports, briefing the various wizards on what their objectives would be when the assault began. Hans Panzerlieder approached, leading a large and ferocious furry white creature on a leash.

"My lord, we are ready to unleash the yeti," he informed Grindelwald, who nodded in acknowledgement.

"My lord, all units are now in place," reported Wolfgang von Wolfsburg, the former Director of Magical Law Enforcement from the German Ministry who was now Grindelwald's chief combat engineer.

Grindelwald acknowledged him as Schwartz quipped, "Let's just hope there isn't a full moon during the battle, right?"

Von Wolfsburg rolled his eyes in exasperation, "For the last time, I am not a werewolf, that stopped being funny a long time ago."

Grindelwald continued to stare stone faced as his army began to move forward, looking out towards the encampments of American troops who were blissfully unaware that they were about to face his full wrath. There was one thing he was certain of; that once the attack was launched, Albus Dumbledore would not dare stand in its way.

The palace of Versailles, once the royal seat of French kings, was known to many as one of the most elegant and extravagant buildings in the world. Its well manicured gardens, gently flowing fountains and exquisite chandeliers had for many years represented the epitome of luxury and the pinnacle of power. But now that France had once again become a battleground, Versailles had been adapted to its new role as General Eisenhower's Allied headquarters.

As Dumbledore quickly made his way through the corridors en route to an emergency meeting, the scene was one of pure, unadulterated madness. A sudden and unexpected German offensive in the Ardennes Forest had caught the Allied armies off guard, and now the general staff was struggling to make sense of it all. Staff officers were frantically running in every possible direction, transmitting messages to and from the front lines. The large map on the wall of the conference room was constantly being updated with the latest news from the front as conflicting reports seemed to pour in every minute. The phones were ringing off the hook, the telegraph machines were running nonstop, and nobody present was going to be sleeping anytime soon.

Dumbledore breezed through security as he was ushered into a private room with Generals Eisenhower and Montgomery, and one more General who he recognized but had not met yet; a foul mouthed, cigar chomping American called George S. Patton.

The Generals gathered around a table as Eisenhower slumped down in his chair, looking overstressed and completely exhausted. "Let me bring you up to speed," he told Dumbledore curtly, "As you can see on the map, German forces have launched a surprise offensive. So far our troops have been bending but not breaking."

Dumbledore could see the clear picture on the map of a semicircular bulge in the middle of the Allied lines. In the midst of the bulge, there seemed to be a small island of land that remained under Allied control.

Eisenhower explained, "A division of paratroopers has managed to hold out resistance in the town of Bastogne, Belgium, but they are outnumbered and surrounded. I don't need to tell you all what's at stake here. If we can hold off this assault, then the war is all but won. But if the Germans break through then all that we have gained thus far may be lost."

Montgomery elaborated, "Due to adverse weather conditions and persistent fog, we have been unable to utilize air support."

Dumbledore's eyes focused in concentration as he processed the information and reached his own conclusions, "It has to be dementors, dark creatures who spread despair. Their breeding tends to form impenetrable fogs. "

The Generals raised surprisingly few objections to Dumbledore's explanation; it was just one more piece in what had been a long and steady stream of alarming news over the past few days.

Patton spoke up next in a very gruff, "Well that's enough talk, it's time for action. My Third Army will launch a counterattack and we'll drive those bastards off."

"But you army is in the south of France, that's far too great a distance to travel," Montgomery objected.

"Nonsense, my boys will be there in 48 hours," Patton confidently proclaimed.

Dumbledore calmly offered some words of caution, "I must warn you, General, that the dark wizard Grindelwald is most likely involved. Your troops would be facing powerful wizards and whatever other magical beasts they may bring to bear."

Patton pounded his fist on the table as he emphatically stated, "I don't give a damn if they have wizards, mummies, vampires, the Big Bad Wolf, or the Fairy Fricken' Godmother, we're going to kill all those sons of bitches and any other Nazi bastards that try to get in our way!"

When Dumbledore was slightly taken aback at Patton's bravado, the General simply shrugged and said, "I'm American, I like to win."

"I don't doubt your enthusiasm George, but I'm worried that even if you do make it there in 48 hours, I'm afraid the whole front might collapse before then," concluded Eisenhower.

Dumbledore, having had a fresh idea, then spoke up, "Leave that to me. I will hold off the assault until General Patton's army arrives and eliminate whatever magical obstacles I can."

"And how are you going to get there?" asked Eisenhower, who was now struggling mightily to make sense of the whole situation.

Dumbledore looked back with his famous all knowing twinkle as he said, "Leave that to me."

A loud thump shook Dumbledore from his seat as the cargo plane passed through a particularly rough patch of turbulence. With no effective magical means of reaching the remote and war torn corner of Belgium, he was using the next best option. Elphias Doge and Benny Hamilton were buckled into the adjacent seats, all sitting in silence as they waited on the edge of a battle. Joe Spinelli had come along as well, to serve as a liaison with the American forces they would soon be meeting.

Dumbledore blithely wondered how Muggles managed to invent airplanes in the first place as he absent mindedly tossed his wand back and forth from one hand to the other, trying very hard to block more serious thoughts out of his mind. He did not know if he would be facing Grindelwald when they reached the ground, and he did not know how he would react if he did. He had this far managed to avoid a direct confrontation, and on a certain level he was hoping that trend continued. He had convinced himself that Grindelwald's tendency to delegate more dangerous tasks would mean that he would not be directly involved in the current battle; whether it was true or not it had been a necessary step to be mentally able to depart on the mission in the first place. And given the desperate situation for the troops on the ground, the mission was clearly a necessary one.

Several more bumps of turbulence shook the plane as they crossed into Belgian airspace, and Dumbledore could barely make up some dark forms hovering in the sky amidst the thick fog, quickly realizing what they entailed.

"Visibility is zero; I can't see a damn thing!" Roger excitedly announced from the cockpit.

Dumbledore rose and poked his head in the cockpit, stopping to assure Roger that he could remedy the situation. With his wand in hand, Dumbledore nudged the plane's door open and felt an intense rush of cold, damp air in his face. Roger attempted to hold the plane as steady as he could, but it was still somewhat of a bumpy ride, with each rough patch threatening to send Dumbledore on a very long descent to the ground. Doge and Benny grabbed tightly onto Dumbledore's robes as he gradually leaned further and further out of the plane, feeling very thankful that the thick fog prevented him from seeing just how far the drop to the ground really was.

Dumbledore aimed his wand towards the vague, black forms that circled through the fog, adding an extra chill to the already very cold air. He closed his mind off to the painful family memories that were trying to creep in and deeply concentrated as he exclaimed, "Expecto Patronum!"

A clear, silvery form of a phoenix escaped from Dumbledore's wand and spread its wings. It proceeded to fly several rings around the plane, creating a clear path and much greater visibility. With a clearer view of the ground, Dumbledore signaled to the others that it was time. Doge grabbed the pile of three broomsticks and began to distribute them as Dumbledore consulted with Roger.

"The Patronus charm should give you enough visibility to turn around and get clear of the area. I also placed a replenishing charm on the fuel tanks that should give you enough fuel to make it back to England, or at the very least, an Allied base in France," he explained.

"Thank you Dumbledore, it's going to be a bloody long flight but I should make it," responded Roger, who was still wondering how he got talked into this mission in the first place.

"We're ready to follow you, Albus," said Doge, handing Dumbledore his broom as he approached the open door.

Dumbledore nodded and mounted his broom as Doge did the same. Spinelli grabbed onto Benny as he took a seat behind him on his broom. Dumbledore took a deep breath, intently focusing to calm his nerves, before getting a strong running start and launching himself out the door. The wind rushed through his hair and his entire body was lurched around as he tumbled several times through the air before finally stabilizing enough to gain control of his broom and guide his flight path. Moments later, Doge and Benny had sufficiently stabilized and taken positions behind and on either side of him, making a triangular formation. Spinelli looked white as a sheet as he tightly wrapped his arms around Benny, wishing he had just stuck to parachuting.

Dumbledore led the formation in a steep dive, hurtling rapidly towards the ground, and then pulling up to level off when they reached around tree top level. They skimmed along the treetops before finally gliding to a stop in the middle of a snow covered town. With its medieval churches, quaint corner shops, and cobblestone streets, Bastogne, Belgium was ordinarily the type of town that would appear on paintings used in Christmas cards. But now, it was a battleground. After several days of constant bombardment, very few buildings in the town remained wholly intact, and piles of dust and rubble filled the streets. Groups of American soldiers huddled together for warmth and shelter among the ruins, waiting to fend off the next assault amidst the constant echo of gunfire in the distance.

Spinelli ducked into an abandoned building to relieve himself of the motion sickness brought on by the tumultuous broom ride before stepping back out onto the street to guide the three wizards. "That's the 101st Airborne, my old unit," he explained, as they passed by a small formation of troops.

They walked through the bombed out streets past the groups of worn and ragged soldiers, determined to continue their defiant resistance. They were particularly struck by noticing that many of the soldiers had thrown up makeshift Christmas decorations, and were singing carols and exchanging small, hastily wrapped packages of cigarettes and chocolate rations as gifts. Dumbledore remembered that it was, in fact, Christmas Eve. He felt great sympathy for the soldiers who would be spending the holiday away from their families, and he reflected that it had been ages since he had one so himself. His brother Aberforth was the only family he had left, and they hadn't spoken in quite some time. Their sister's tragic death had driven a deep wedge between them, one that remained all these years later.

Doge observed the soldiers as well and he remarked in awe, "It baffles me how they can be so bloody cheerful while surrounded by dementors in a war zone."

Benny chuckled as he explained, "You just don't understand Americans, Elphias. We're an optimistic people."

They continued walking through the town until they reached a security post outside a nondescript building. Spinelli presented his identification, and the four of them were admitted into the makeshift headquarters of the airborne division. They stepped into the house, which was only slightly warmer than it was outside, and were greeted by General McAuliffe, the commanding officer.

The General stood up, relieved and surprised to see them, as he greeted, "Lieutenant Spinelli, we thought you went off the grid completely. Where are you working these days, exactly?"

Spinelli smiled as he informed his former commander, "You wouldn't believe me if I told you, Sir." He then turned towards his magical colleagues, "General, this is Albus Dumbledore, Elphias Doge, and Benny Hamilton."

"General Eisenhower warned me about the three of you," said McAuliffe, as he shook their hands.

They took seats around a desk to begin the meeting as McAuliffe updated them on the situation. "There have been some very strange occurrences here that seem to be aiding the Germans. Just yesterday we managed to kill this," he said, showing a black and white photograph of a large furry creature.

"Merlin, it's a yeti!" Doge exclaimed. "This must be Grindelwald's doing."

Dumbledore maintained his cool expression as he calmly asked, "What is the current state of your defenses?"

McAuliffe explained, "We're outnumbered, outgunned, and running out of supplies, but I think we can hold them, although just the other day the Germans sent us a note asking for our surrender."

"And what did you tell them?" Doge asked eagerly.

McAuliffe grinned proudly, "I told them 'Nuts!' "

Benny tipped his cowboy hat in homage to McAuliffe as he told Elphias, "This is more of that American spirit I was telling you about."

McAuliffe then explained the situation further, "The latest reports have General Patton's army a day or two away from here. We know what's at stake; if we can hold out until then, we've pretty much won the war."

Dumbledore had a concerned expression as he appeared to be contemplating deeply, "I fear Grindelwald may attempt one last assault before then, which is why we are here, of course."

McAuliffe patted him on the back, "Well good luck Mr. Dumbledore, we might not be magic, but whatever is out there, we have your back."

The German General Heinrich von Luttwitz sat in his command tent, assessing the situation. He was shocked and appalled that his American counterpart had so rudely refused his generous surrender terms, and he wondered what possessed those men to keep fighting despite the odds being stacked against them. His forces, which greatly outnumbered their American foes, had surrounded the village and cut off their supplies, as well as maintaining a constant barrage of fire towards the defenders. Yet for reasons unknown, the resistance had held firm, and now, with reinforcements en route, time was beginning to run out for the Germans.

The General barked furious orders to his staff officers, imploring them to send their troops forward and attack with everything at their disposal. While beginning to address two of his colonels, he was interrupted by a powerful blonde man suddenly entering the tent.

"General Grindelwald, Sir, how may we assist you?" the General asked nervously.

"Why have you not yet secured the village, General?" Grindelwald angrily demanded.

Von Luttwitz stammered for a response, "We are about to launch a new assault, which I have no doubt will be successful at breaking their defenses."

Grindelwald stared at him with a disgusted expression as he grumbled, "No, it's too late for that. It appears I am going to have to take matters into my own hands."

Grindelwald turned his back to von Luttwitz and stormed out of the tent, leaving just as quickly as he had arrived.

With a determined expression, Dumbledore slowly and steadily walked towards the outskirts of the town, with Doge and Benny following closely behind him. The guards manning the outposts saluted them as they walked on by, leaving the American lines and heading towards the Germans. As the three wizards neared the German lines, they were greeted by sudden outbursts of gunfire on all sides.

Without missing a step, Dumbledore calmly cast a shield charm, forming a protective covering that deflected the incoming bullets. Protected by Dumbledore's charm, Doge and Benny unleashed a quick succession of stunning and confounding charms, causing the German soldiers to scatter in confusion.

The three wizards continued to move forward, creating a large gap in the German lines. They met no serious resistance until at last they heard the loud cracks of a group of wizards apparating in front of them. A flurry of curses was unleashed by both sides as they began to duel. Things were happening too fast for Dumbledore to process as he dove left and right to dodge curses, stopping whenever possible to fire off counterattacks. It was not clear just how many enemy wizards he was facing, but it was certainly a lot more than the three of them, and they were in grave danger of being cut off and surrounded.

As a group of dark wizards massed together to combine their firepower and press home the attack, Dumbledore's ability to think outside the box finally came into play. Acting quickly, he used a powerful levitation charm to uproot a large tree and send it flying in the wizard's direction. He watched as the long and thick trunk impacted squarely in the middle of the tightly packed group of wizards, sending them reeling backwards.

With the scales now tipped in their favor, for the moment at least, Dumbledore, Doge, and Benny charged wildly forward, firing stunning spells as quickly as possible and pursuing their retreating foes. Despite their disadvantage in numbers, they remained on the offensive, quickly gaining ground as more and more of their foes fell to their spells.

Just when Dumbledore began to have a lighter spring in his step, he felt a sudden jolt of fear and apprehension all over his body as he was confronted with a familiar figure from his past. Though the dark wizard was still a long distance away, Dumbledore could not fail to recognize the familiar face of Grindelwald.

For a moment, both wizards stood in disbelief, both equally shocked to encounter the other. Then, Grindelwald looked around at his retreating followers before wildly firing a curse, which sailed over Dumbledore's head, and joining them in the frantic retreat. Without pausing to think, Dumbledore ran after him, running as fast as he could through the snow as an adrenaline rush surged through him.

Grindelwald fled rapidly, cursing trees, rocks and whatever other objects he could find to fly towards Dumbledore. Dumbledore ran in a zigzagging pattern, dodging the objects as he magically deflected them. Dumbledore's lungs burned as he heavily exerted himself in the cold winter air, and his legs ached mightily from running through the snow. Pressing on through his growing exhaustion, he widened his stride as the terrain became steeper and steeper, and he soon found himself climbing a mountain. He cast a charm on his shoes to improve their traction and make them waterproof as he struggled to maintain his footing.

Finally, he slowed to a halt as the ground leveled off in a ledge overlooking the scenic valley below. He looked up to see himself nearly face to face with a manically grinning Grindelwald, who quickly disapparated and reappeared on another peak across the valley. His mocking voice echoed through the valley, "Nice try, Albus," as he fired off an explosive curse and disapparated again.

Grindelwald's curse impacted high above Dumbledore on the mountainside, and he heard a low rumble as massive quantities of snow began to slide down the mountain. Dumbledore stepped backwards in trepidation, but he felt his feet fly out from under him as he stepped on a large patch of ice. The wave of snow became larger and larger as it moved down the mountain. Dumbledore struggled to grab onto something as he slid downhill. He desperately fired protective charms, but the sheer amount of snow was just too much for him. Before Dumbledore knew it, he was buried in a large drift of freezing white snow. It was packed far too tightly for him to move or reach his wand, and every part of his body was absolutely chilled to the bone.

Dumbledore had no idea how long he had been buried in the snow when he was finally greeted by Elphias Doge, who was hastily digging while Benny stood behind him casting warming charms.

"Albus! Oh Merlin, we feared the worst," said Doge, shaking with excitement at having discovered Dumbledore alive.

"What happened? Where's Grindelwlad?" Dumbledore asked as he slowly came to his senses.

"He's gone; he disapparted and cleared out of here, they all did," Benny informed him.

"And the soldiers in the town?" Dumbledore asked, squinting as the snow melted around his eyes.

"The relief column is only 12 hours out, it looks like they're going to hold," Benny assured him.

Dumbledore took a deep breath as he leaned back in the snow. The war was nearing its conclusion, but one major obstacle remained.

Sebastian Schwartz stealthily crawled along the gentle, rolling hills, carefully remaining in the shadows. After Dumbledore's unexpected intervention, Grindelwald had ordered his wizards to break off the assault, leaving the Muggle German forces to their fate. Their new orders were to fall back to Nurmengard, where they would have a strong defensive position. However, prior to returning to Nurmengard, each wizard was given a target to attack, as Grindelwald desired to send a message that he was still to be feared. As Schwartz made his way through the green hills of Southern France, with Hans Panzerlieder following close behind him, their assigned target finally came into view; the sprawling yellow palace of Beauxbatons Academy.

The crouched along a tree covered ledge, looking down with a commanding view at the school below. Their orders from Grindelwald were simple; destroy the school, and pay no heed to whoever may be inside.

"What are you waiting for, Schwartz?" Panzerlieder asked impatiently as he drew his wand and prepared for the attack.

Schwartz did not answer him because he was deep in contemplation. Like many German wizards of his generation, he had initially been very excited about Grindelwald's plans for a wizarding empire, and was eager to join his cause in search of adventure and glory. As he experienced more and more of the harsh realities of war, his misguided idealism quickly faded, and he became focused on simply surviving. But now, as he watched the French students march to class in neat, perfect rows, he was finally beginning to question the morality of it all. He had wanted an adventure, and attacking a school was definitely not what he had in mind.

"We don't have all day, Schwartz," Panzerlieder testily reminded him.

On a sudden impulse, Schwartz turned towards his colleague and cast, "Stupefy!" knocking him to the ground. He then quickly followed up with "Obliviate!" to modify his memory.

Schwartz looked around, not entirely sure why he had just done that, haranguing himself for acting so rashly, yet concluding that it was probably the right thing to do. Not allowing his thoughts to linger, he turned and walked away from the school and towards a new existence on the run. He was not sure where he would go next, but one thing was certain; returning to Grindelwald was no longer an option.


End file.
